I have moldy bread in my pantry. Loads of it actually, loads of loaves of pink, grey, fuzzy rock hard mold bread that I just seem to get more of every day because I am special like that. I can’t help that the rabbits love my rocking chair, either. They’ve earned it, they’ve marked it, and there’s probably like two or three pregnant rabbits thanks to my old wooden rocking chair named Alice. I’m happy for those hoppy rats, and from what I’ve gathered, they use Alice like how my parents would use the hammock when they thought they were alone, but maybe the thrill of it all comes from the fact that they knew they might be wrong, that their image may be seared into my broken brain, and yet still they reveled further in their lust with the thought that they are a spectacle worth watching. I prefer the rabbits.
Anyway, call me Ishmael. Just kidding. Call me God. Fuck you. I don’t care. I have little hair left to tear from my scalp, this burning question of mine itching down the very fiber of my belonging to such a community as Boulder. So I got the Vaccine, now what? Where does it go? What do I do with it? In one hand I hold the vial, the other the pen, and I’m hoping my thoughts on this matter will be taken with the highest regard. We are supposed to be a community that helps each other, reaches our hand and pulls with great strength those of us stuck in the mud. How, then, is it me to be left behind? This vial of goo I have, what to do? The rabbits aren’t interested, they have Alice. What do I have but a mystery of the highest consequence? Oh, vaccine! Oh, life! The cloak of it all! May it be unveiled, show your true self! Can you hide from God you fucking glob of goop? For something that is supposed to be for protecting the community it surely contains no instruction manual.
An aside, if you’ll indulge me: Steph Curry for threeeee!!!! BANG!!!!! BANG!!!! BALL GAME!!!!!! I jumped from my seat. High class entertainment right there, Steph cheffin it up right here in my living room! No mystery in that, he is the only other creature I would call an inspiration. That’s when I had the idea that would lead me down this disastrous path: I need to take a shot. After all, to be Steph is to be the best. What better way to take a shot than to take the vaccine? Oh! What I know now!
I drove into the vaccination clinic and through the horrified looks of the sheep-faces. Bumps in my road were these misplaced souls. Destruction surrounded me. Rubble of science, a blunder for east campus. I got out of my car to be greeted by the crunching of glass beneath my feet. They were scared, sheep without shepard, gods with no religion. I wished they thanked me, but I had no time anyway. I took what was mine. The Moderna, the cure for a culture broken by the torque of itself. I grabbed the vial. Mine.
Now what? Is this my punishment? To simply have the vaccine? I did what they asked, I did! I took what was promised to me and now all I have is a cylinder of sorrow! Drink it, I could, but I should? Toss it in the air like a full pizza pie? Put it in a blender, add some fresh oats? Where do I get these ‘fresh oats’? But why would a man like me bother with something like oats? Would I enjoy the oats? Master of my mind, good heavens, am I gay? Nevermind the oats. My business is the vaccine, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.
This matter is more than myself, my great trial of faith is this letter. I hope it finds you well. I surely am not. The fungus in my bread box can attest to that. Please write back to me. I am dying for answers. Confusion calls my name. I must return to its cradle, not to be mistaken for a madman. Help me, and together, with this vaccine, we can set the world free.