An eyewitness was heard saying, “I’ve never vac-seen a sexier person.”
Photo by Jack Yang
Last Thursday in Bethesda, Maryland, during the quiet hours before the morning traffic rush, the front doors of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases exploded in a shower of concrete and glass. According to some passers-by, an enraged Dr. Anthony Fauci emerged from the rubble, armed to the teeth with syringe belts and a massive chain gun.
Descending upon an “antivaxxer” protest in downtown Bethesda, Fauci gave his ultimatum: “I’m here to listen to my patients, and administer COVID vaccines … but this time, I’m all out of patience.” When booed, Fauci began throwing and firing syringes into the crowd, which rapidly took cover, save for an unlucky few struck in the first salvo.
Pausing from his frenzied onslaught, the NIAID Director confirmed the crowd’s suspicions. “Yes, I have replaced my flesh with a synthetic, bulletproof exoskeleton. Why do any of this? Well, frankly, once me and my team had determined the efficacy of the vaccine, we wanted to distribute before the inevitable resurgence of antivaxxers. I’m tired of civility politics, and tired of appeasing the doomsday preppers who think they’d be better off drinking bleach or eating Tide pods. You think you’ve seen a second wave? Wait until these protesters come back with their AR-15s.”
A few older Bethesdans, however, say there is more to the doctor’s outburst than meets the eye. “It’s a curse, young’un,” says Wilhelmina Gryla, a local resident. “Every bitter winter when I was but a kinter, my dear mama always told me: ‘Never leave your mouth open when you go out to fetch firewood at night! If you do, the evil Doktor Faustche will steal your precious life!’”
Rocking back and forth beneath the ruined portico of a local manor, stroking her mask, Gryla offered her critical perspective on Dr. Fauci’s rampage. “I was a brazen lass, always singing aloud without my mask as I walked between our cottage, the village, and the pasture. My mother had told me of the demon doctor, of his terrible, towering figure, his twisted horns, his sensible horn-rimmed glasses. But back then, I was unafraid. So when the sun began to set I kept whistling my jaunty tunes, lugging my pail of milk as I skipped. Then, only thirty feet from our door, I saw him. He rose out of the snow, eyes aglow, black as an oily crow. I trembled, but stood my ground. I prepared to tell him: ‘I’m not afraid of you! You’re nothing but a fairy tale!’ Yet as I cleared my throat to utter those words, he descended upon me in a flash, his terrible claw stretched out toward me, to steal my everlasting soul!”
“I dropped my pail and began to run, but it was too late. Doktor Faustche had sunk his needle-like nails into my cheek, his shining eyes watching me with delight as my youth was siphoned from my body! In an instant, he had aged me thirty, maybe forty years! And now, here we are. This mask I wear in fear that the terrible Doktor will return to finish the job: of that, I have no doubt.”
Fauci, last seen in a standoff against the combined front of police, a local militia, and several time-traveling Fauci clones, declined to give further comment. Gryla was also nowhere to be found, her manor reduced to rubble and ash save a single N95 Respirator Mask.
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