I’m more busted up than Rita Hayworth hanging on the wall of a dirty prison cell over the way me and my unvaccinated pals have been treated by family during the holidays.
It was the end of December 2022 when my son, Miguel, announced that the family had voted that no one without a vaccine could join the annual Gelman Family Christmas dinner. I protested: “What is this 2021?” But my reasonable call went on deaf ears—likely due to the five jabs my family has already had.
And with that, I grabbed the strongest bottle of Mountain Dew from the fridge and walked out into the night to fend for my own turkey and Christmas pudding.
Cold and lonely I wandered through the streets of my home town looking for somewhere to spend Santa’s big day. But since the latest “peaceful” BLM March most of the stores had been looted and boarded up. Thank you, Joe Brandon.
I AM SAM. I MEAN AN IDIOT
After finding shelter in an alley, I cozied up with what was left of my sweet soda pop elixir when an angelic voice woke me from my depression and invited me to follow him. His name was Blue and he looked and sounded like Morgan Freeman. I followed him to a large complex, which was formerly a state prison until the liberals had released all the convicts, that is. There I was greeted by a band of like-minded individuals who had also been evicted from their family dinners for not taking the jab.
I repeated my earlier comment, “What is this 2021?” But this time was greeted by a chorus of laughter. LOL!
We ate a small humble dinner and had a good chin wag. We discussed the thousands of unreported deaths based on the vaccine, the vaccine side effects that will never justify fighting what is essentially a common cold. One small man named Brooks told me about how Irish undertakers were seeing a major uptake in deaths and, yet, still no one was reporting this tragedy. Even the left wing actor Tim Robbins was there. He too questioned the official narrative, but as long as people like the Gelman’s continued to keep their vaccines ‘up to date’ I would never be able to return home.
Get Busy Living!
I was given a small cell to spend the night, but knew that I would never survive the winter in this tiny hell hole. The cries of Fu#k Trudeau echoed in the night from behind cell doors. I told Blue that maybe I should just give in and get the vaccine.
“Get busy dying with the jab,” Blue said. For an ex-con he was perhaps the most liberated prisoner in the joint. Free to speak his mind without being punished or censored.
Then he told me about a place where he once made love to a chubby South African waitress. It was on the outskirts of town and there I’d find a small box with a map to an unvaccinated safe haven away from the vax politics of the modern world.
That night in the cold cell I thought about my family. I imagined them all stuffing their little mouths with Christmas dinner and then opening their presents. I pictured my wife, Greta, reading the Night Before Christmas and my neighbour, Mr. Wong, drinking too many egg nogs and getting fresh with her. I couldn’t understand why my choice had exiled me from the people I loved, or why the people I loved didn’t love me because I had made a personal choice about my body. I felt Blue spoon me on the single cot and decided that I didn’t want to be his next African waitress so I had no choice but to escape.
It only took a few hours to tunnel out of the old prison, but I did have to crawl through a pipe full of doo doo, but when I did make it out for the first time in three years I felt free. (Only later did I realize that the front gate had been unlocked and we could come and go as we pleased. You learn a lot of things in prison, some of them you’d rather forget.)
I spent the next few days looking for the spot where Blue had made love. I checked the old rocket launch site, the closed down e-car factory, and even checked in the dumpsters behind the bank. I imagined that he’d made a lot of love with a lot of waitresses, considering he looked and sounded like a famous actor, but eventually I found it and sure as being convicted of a crime I didn’t commit I found the map he spoke about. It read: if you’ve made it this far why not go a bit farther in the treasureverse. The letter described a place on the Southern border near Texas, where I would be greeted by an entire community of unvaccinated individuals. It sounded too good to be true, but hearing Blue’s voice in my head, the voice of freedom, I decided to follow the map.
I went back to my motel room and etched into the wall “Toby Was Here,” and lost my eight dollar damage deposit. Then I hopped aboard a bus and headed south. I didn’t think anyone was going to miss an old unvaccinated man like me. I doubt my family would come looking for me. I was sure that Mr. Wong was already sleeping in my bed, but what else could I do? If my family wanted to make a ridiculous political statement with their health then I too would make my statement, too.
It took three days on the bus, but I eventually entered Texas. The Mexicans I met along the way were heading the other way north toward Kamala Harris’ home. We nodded silently to each other on the road. They were running away from something but me, I was running towards it.
Another Word Salad
When I eventually arrived at the spot I realized I was still wearing my Christmas sweater. Silly, but most men, if they’re lucky, wear the chains they make in life. I walked along a sandy beach found the unvaccinated community. They were all building boats, which seemed nice but I’m not very good with my hands. Also, I’m fairly certain we were in the desert so thought it a bit strange. I found Blue in a small tent with a bunch of noisy little blue birds shitting as they sat and tweeted. I shook Blue’s hand and then decided it was time to call home.
“Where the hell have you been?” Greta asked. “We’ve all been worried sick.”
I explained the story, which she said sounded like a crack head version of the Shawshank Redemption which apparently is a film. Then she asked me to come home. I looked at a half naked Blue squirming around in his tent, quoting Monty Python and Star Trek and said, “Okay, but I’m still not getting a jab and I won’t be banned from any annual Gelman traditions.”
My wife breathed into the phone and said, “Fine, just as long as you get Mr. Wong out of our bed. It just feels wong.”
I hung up the phone and thought, get busy living or get busy dying. That’s god damn right, old Blue! It’s about time that I’ve been verified.
