The Science Has Spoken

Clyde Always
Dec 1, 2020 · 3 min read
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Image credit: Clyde Always

During these trying times, it is absolutely crucial that we curtail our useless jabbering and start listening — I don’t mean listen to one another (most people are bullheaded, bucket-schlepping lummoxes who aren’t worth their weight in pickle brine) — I mean we need to listen to the science.

When the pandemic first struck, the science was quite adamant: lock it down, the science decreed. We wise few obeyed the science and, as a result, untold millions of lives were spared. It is by the science’s grace that these words are even appearing before your eyes. Praise be unto the science.

Those aforementioned nitwits — the brutes too foolish to heed the science’s clear and ominous warnings — they’ve brought the wrath of the science on us all. May the science strike them dead where they stand! May we hurl their every virgin into the bubbling cauldron of a volcano for their transgressions — brunch, haircuts, Tinder dates — unrepentant hedonism! Science damn them! Perhaps a mass exorcism of these knuckle-draggers is in order (I wonder if the Rev. Bill Nye is available).

Be it known: the science shows great mercy toward its most outspoken proponents. Behold the miracle of November 7th: hundreds of thousands of fellows gathered in the streets to celebrate the election of Joe Biden — a man favored and adorned by the science! In their uncontainable joy, the revelers neglected to obey the sacrament of social distancing at times. When they woke up a week later, it turned out not a single one of them had suffered ill-effects, nor had any of their loved-ones been stricken unclean. Hail and Hallelujah! — the science had passed them over.

Conversely, the science has already begun to rain down Hellfire on the heads of its opponents. In demonic bliss, the Red-Hatted Ones writhed atop one another in staggering numbers throughout the duration of the great plague. It has been written: in a sinful city known as Scranton, as the Beast himself addressed a congregation of thousands of his most ardent followers, the pestilence wove its way through their ranks like wildfire. Not a single Scrantonite was spared the science’s fury — only a pile of rubble there remains (and maybe a Dunkin’). Imagine such irreverence, to rally in defiance of the warnings put forth by the science’s most respected servant: “if two or more pods gatherth for purposes other than looting the local Target, be it a sin upon them and let them be stoned” (Book of Fauci, Chapter 7, Verse 12).

If you have still not heard the good word of the science, I would encourage you to close your eyes and breathe deeply through your KN-95 respirator (after you make sure it fits snugly against your cheeks). Be quiet, wait patiently. Let the science into your heart. No, the science doesn’t sound like David Attenborough. Nope, not like Morgan Freeman, either. In fact, for some reason, the science sounds exactly like Gilbert Gottfried (you know — the parrot from Aladdin). Shh! Do you hear that?

“Hey you science-fearin’ bastids! Fuhget about those jokahs with the MAGA hats — I’ll take care-a-them — consider ’em smote! You, on the otha-hand, got nuthin’ ta worry about — enjoy your UBAH Eats! Just keep on retweetin’ Alyssa Milano and this whole COVID thing will be ovah in no time!”

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Clyde Always

Written by

Clyde Always is an author/illustrator, fine artist and Vaudevillian showman. He lives in San Francisco with his wife Kaylee (the Ukulele). Dig: clydealways.com

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

Clyde Always

Written by

Clyde Always is an author/illustrator, fine artist and Vaudevillian showman. He lives in San Francisco with his wife Kaylee (the Ukulele). Dig: clydealways.com

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

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