F all you motherfers
Gordy Weaver here taking time out from watching methheads from my bathroom window (RIP Aurora, IN) to inform you all about proper etiquette during a pandemic. I had to look up etiquette, and now that I know what it means, I'm going to throw it out causally in conversation as much as possible, so beware. Etiquette, for all you who don't know, means manners, more or less, and although people nowadays have about as much class as a teenage Marky-Mark standing around in his underwear, we don't all have to give up on being nicer human beings to each other just because our country is going to hell. I'm going to lay some ground rules that you all should abide when you're fighting amongst yourselves for the last bag of beef jerky in the Sam's Club parking lot. Keep in mind that the alien hive mind is judging you and you will not rewarded for negative conduct in this life.
Rule numero uno: Don't buy up all the toilet paper. For fuck's sake, peeps, why you buying all the toilet paper? You gonna eat all that shit when society collapses? You gonna make sure your corpse has a clean butthole? Morons are creating the very supply shortages that they are scared of. I guess when the fevered masses come for you, you'll have plenty of TP to build ramparts that a child could plow through. Also, don't fucking buy all the hand sanitizer and then try to resell it at inflated prices. If a national tragedy occurs and you see a business opportunity, then you should go jump off a fucking cliff or go play in traffic, because the human race doesn't need people like you.
Rule numero dos: Stop posting bullshit on the internet. Man, reddit doesn't need anymore threads about conspiracy theories. I guarantee you don't know what the fuck you're talking about, and your dumb uncle who heard that the Chinese engineered this virus by mixing a little AIDS with a little SARS is so stupid he should be beaten with reeds and forced to consume his own bullshit until he pukes some sense. We already know that about forty percent of the country is so irredeemably stupid that they can't tell the difference between information that sounds plausible and a story pieced together by monkeys slamming their knuckles on keyboards. Hell, I run a paranormal society and I know that 99 percent of the shit I write about is nonsense. Bigfoot may be real, but Trent didn't really see him, and every time I've encountered the bastard, I've been so fucking drunk that chupacabras were riding on his shoulders, and we all know that chupacabras don't like to be picked up, even by Bigfoot, so stop adding to the misinformation and keep your pie-hole shut, jabroni.
That's just a dead dog with mange, bro.
Rule numero tres: Keep your distance. Like, I understand that we can't all live forever like a teenager on a Warcraft binge chowing down on cheesy poofs, the stale reek of our dying farts our only company, but maybe you should if you can. I am not the most social of bears, but I get cabin fever cooped up (plus there are ghosts in my attic taking each other to pound town twenty-four seven, so that gets annoying). If you were thinking about going to see Bret Micheaels swing his sexy hips at the local casino, don't bother, since he's fat and he sucks, but also they might be closing soon, or so I hear. The experts say this will die out if we all just live like hermits for a while. As an expert in Reptilian lore, I confirm that this is correct.
Man I had some more rules but I'm all out now, and I think there's a squirrel trying to break into my beef jerky cache I made last night in the hoboshack, so I'm out. Stay safe, America. Gordy Weaver will be praying to the old gods for you.
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