Finally! The museum…no…tribute…NO…commemorative sacrarium stands at the ready!
(I read that word once in a book about the noxious virile origins of white supremacy.)
Everything, every last piece of revertential marginalia has been gathered in and delicately displayed, down to the most disposable knicknack. Action figures, magazine profiles, glamour shots, autographed stationery, bobbleheads, votive candles, doggy chewtoys, coffeemugs, portraits, pins, toilet cleaners, socks, shirts, scarves, face masks, pajama bottoms…*deep breath*… baseball caps, fly swatters, lamp shades, limited-edition LEGO busts, whoopi cushions, bumper stickers, ice molds, Christmas ornaments, coloring books, exclusive Play-Doh playsets, porcelain decanters, Hershey candy wrappers, broom handles, aprons, sponges, throw pillows, counterpanes…*another breath break*…bottle openers, corkscrews, kid-sized cutlery, glassware, face-patched undercrackers, and, finally, one-of-a-kind produced Nike Dunks.
Yup. That should cover it. Except for maybe a butter mold at the Iowa State Fair that’s long melted, or a one-time graffito mural now covered with a “Dale’s Discount Autos” decal.
At long last, after many an eBay find, Poshmark poach, Mecari mingle, Depop dive, and Facebook haggle, I’ve assembled it. The largest collection of trinkets, doodads, novelties, props, and branded whatsits of the greatest hero of the 21st century. A man whose dedication to humanity is beyond compare. His sacrifice, his diligence, his intelligence, all top of class. In fact, if I believed in heaven, I’d wager that God Himself reserves a special seat in waiting for the eventual arrival of his most beloved creation.
(I don’t believe in a make-believed bearded all-carer, of course. That’s cope-fantasy for benighted Trump voters who stupidly believe the earth is 6,000 years old and dinosaurs are a liberal electric-car conspiracy.)
Of which secular saint do I refer? Why the honorable, gallant, above-reproach physician of the age, healer of all woe, the white-coated Doctor Anthony Stephen Fauci. Our paladin of palliation, maestro of medicine, king of curatives, cavalier of convalescence, Knight Hospitaller himself!
I am…no, WE, are forever indebted to Sir Anthony Fauci for his incredible, tireless work during the COVID-19 pandemic. Without his steady hand and sage wisdom—not to mention his ungodly patience dealing with that disgusting Russian agent of a president—we miraculously survived what could have been a society-ending contaminant. Dégringolade was at our doorstep! But through his carefully capable wit and analytical mind, the superordinate medico delivered us from the flatlined fate of provincial fiddlebrains.
Don’t you remember those scary days? That deadly spring? I was scared out of my gourd, eyes glued to CNN around the clock. I doused my one-bedroom condo in Lysol thrice-a-day. When sanitizing groceries was ruled out, I kept faith, dousing my Uber Eats-ed victuals well into 2022. My mask melded into another appendage. Never a moment did I dare unclench my triple-stacked N95s, even alone, which I mostly was. I took the briefest showers to limit raw air exposure, even forgoing thorough shampoo-rinsing. (My scalp itched so!) And I never attended any family gathering, not Christmas, nor Thanksgiving, nor Juneteenth. (I decided after Michael Brown was lynched to cease recognizing the “Fourth of Genocidal July.”) Of course, it’s been over a decade since I was invited to any family get-together, after I called my dad a “fascist f*ck” for having Fox News on during ‘09 New Year’s Eve, but I wouldn’t have risked pulmonary infection if asked anyway.
There’s zero, zilch, nada, nooooo chance the virus was spread further by your most conscientious prog. In point of fact, the reason the pandemic lasted longer is due entirely to red-state troglodytes refusing to abide by the esteemed Anthony Fauci’s learned instruction. Your faithful servant did zer (my pronoun!) part, abiding by every single social restriction, no matter how trivial or onerous, issued by each governmental authority, from U.N. to H.O.A. I stuck rigid to the vaccine schedule, happily intaking boosters. Heck, once, during a particularly dangerous winter, when the omnivoricanaverous variant was spreading like Trumpian slander, I surreptitiously slipped into the CVS closet where shots were administered and jabbed myself! I was so thrilled that I dashed out into the street and was nearly hit by an ozone-killing S.U.V. The driver, no doubt some mouthbreathing MAGAmoron, got a piece of my Master’s-bestowed mind!
Now that I’ve devoted years and expended countless dollars to curate the greatest collection of Fauci, M.D. memorabilia, and I’ve rented out gallery space in Center City, Washington, D.C., to pay homage to the great panacea practitioner, I see from the traitorous New York Times that a dimwitted G.O.P. (do I repeat myself??) senator has leaked the contents of our rescuer’s journal musings!
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY!?
First off, the Times should be sued into oblivion for even covering these obviously purloined writings. Same with CNN. Second, the senatorial thug that disclosed our most eminent virologist’s inner thoughts should be expelled, then jailed. Better yet, inject the thief with a virus to see if he likes what millions had to suffer with!
And what “revelations” are these Neanderthals trotting out to discredit all the good work America’s Deliverer did for the country? That he enjoyed the company of celebrities? Big whoopie. I’d be smitten around Barbra Streisand, too!
What’s this, the planet’s protector is being raked over the coals for dining with Jake Tapper? In the early months of the pandemic when we were told socialization was too risky? Well…he must have been coordinating coverage so that people could be better informed! And I bet my CubeSmart unit filled with Charmin that they stayed six feet apart the entire time!
These are the best smears anti-science Republicans can muster? That the ever-competent superman leading the fight against an evil illness wanted more airtime? He was leading us through a plague with sage advice, sound statistics, and a calm, reassuring demeanor, all in the face of a whiny toddler-in–chief who wanted the economy humming over hearts beating!
Since when is being vain a crime? Were that so, and the haughty were collared, then 90% of Washington would be gaoled. The shiningest star in the Milky Way is allowed—no, should be encouraged!—to take pride in his vaunted place. All this half-baked huffing just betrays the utter ignorance of Republicans.
Look at this Fox News headline: “Exposed Fauci diary shows he estimated COVID-19 death rate to be much lower than what he told Congress.” Total misinformation! So what if our supreme doctor thought the Covid mortality measure was a couple percentage points lower than what he disclosed? He was trying to save lives, dammit! A little fib can keep a million dunderheads from needlessly offing themselves.
Some rightie viralists are now drawing attention to Dr. Fauci questioning the efficacy of his lockdown demands, namely the nowise effect non-association decrees had on transmission. To which I bellow: WHO CARES?! Better safe in isolation than losing a lung over saying hello to your bigoted mother. After all, only a bigot dared question science during such a perilous time.
By far the stupidest, most nobheaded criticism is the supposed “coverup” of COVID-19 ab origine. To quote my other political hero: What difference, at this point, does it make? Grown in a lab, hatched from road-killed pangolin, spread via chiropteran guano, birthed in the vomit pile of an opium addict—the beginnings are irrelevant.
So what if our doughty doc intentionally suborned the true incipient event of Covid’s mass culling? Pinpointing the precise origin wasn’t going to save anyone after the cough leapfrogged countries. We required immediate action to stop the spread, even if the precautions inhibited workaday life. Nobody really enjoys work or school or having to go out and fake smile at people you barely know over watery cocktails, anyway.
My life is one lived in opposition to lowbrow, inbred yokels who’d commit pathogenic genocide just to split a piss-beer pitcher with pals. I am not deterred by all the Russian bots calling me an “authoritarian psychopath” on Instagram; actually, I’m more emboldened than ever. The “Dr. Anthony Fauci—World Hero” exhibit will proceed! Our very redeemer will get his due, so help my personal checkbook!
@Taylor Lewis
Brilliant
Thank you for this astute essay