Hey there wanna-be-surgeon, you’re scaring the shit out of me with your apocalyptic fashion gear. Would you mind taking it off, you’re scaring the children. Did I somehow not get the memo about some sort of asbestos spill? If there’s some sort of nerve agent loose and I forgot my King of Pop mask, I’m gonna be madder than a pair of heels worn by Kirstie Alley during a 5K breast cancer awareness run. However, being that you’re the only one on the bus who is actually taking WW3 precautions, I’m gonna bet on the averages and go with “I’m safe without my mask” today and hope that the napalm threat is low.
Now, if you’re a surgeon, or a dentist or live with someone of flatulence, then fine, by all means, dawn the little piece of cloth, but if you’re just walking down the street, then I’m just gonna guess you’re a little koo-koo or an episode of 60 minutes that showed tiny flesh devouring organisms living in your pillow that could completely skin you while you sleep scared you straight into the nearest Walgreen’s to buy said gauze pad connected to a piece of elastic, just like they intended. I’m guessing that the mask is
going to help prevent lung cancer as much as a butt gasket is going to keep your ass from getting moist from the guy who couldn’t hit Lake Erie if floating above it in a hot air balloon (pee-pee on the potty reference).
So please, take the mask off, take a deep breath of toxic sickness that we all know and love and join the multitudes, we accept you. Coughhackhackcough, what the fuck did I just swallow?