I mean, c’mon, I love bacon, too, but I don’t love bacon.
Because that’s how something like swine flu gets passed around, right? In order for a disease to jump from animal to humans, first the human has to jump the animal?
I say “human,” but we all know it had to be a guy because no woman looks at a pig and thinks, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Work it, Porky!”
That’s how they say AIDS was invented (and by “they,” I mean I was too lazy to even look it up on Wikipedia): A very lonely and socially confused man had sex with a very slutty monkey.
And believe you me, I’ve seen my share of sexy monkeys at the zoo—we’re talking the Megan Fox of orangutans—but none that I would actually have sex with. Well at least not without a long-term commitment.
Apparently this swine flu has the potential of becoming a pandemic, which is the word “panic” with “dem” in the middle of it, so you know it must be serious.
I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stop the needless spread of swine flu, as long as it requires me to stay inside my house, lay on my couch, order takeout and do nothing for literally weeks.
Egypt was so freaked out that it ordered the slaughter of 300,000 pigs, which, as it turns out, is exactly the amount of food it takes to make dinner for Rosie O’Donnell.
And what’s worse, apparently getting a flu shot provides exactly 0.0 percent protection against the swine flu. What a gyp! I’m starting to think that flu shots are just a giant scam perpetrated by meanie nurses who get off charging $20 to jab total strangers with needles.
My last flu shot wasn’t even at the hospital. There was a just a lady wandering around in an open bathrobe in a Rite Aid parking lot holding rubbing alcohol and a hat pin.
This swine flu is no laughing matter. More than 20 people have already died from it and I personally have considered using it as an excuse to call in sick to work. But then, I thought, what if afterwards I really do get the swine flu? Boy, is my face going to be red then, or in this case, pink like a candied ham.
Whenever there’s a national crisis like this, my first thought is always, “How can I exploit this horrible tragedy for my own personal gain?” When Hurricane Katrina happened, trust me, nobody suffered more than I did. I told my boss I had relatives in New Orleans then spent five days in Maui with only an SPF-3 suntan lotion.
I still have the scars from that terrible ordeal. Actually they’re less like scars and more like sunspots. That’s just as bad as having your house destroyed by a flood, but has Brad Pitt offered to build me a shiny new house? Of course not.
As a precaution, health officials have urged the public to wash their hands with soap and hot water and to cover their mouths when coughing or sneezing. And if it took the threat of a deadly global virus to get you to finally cover your mouth or wash your hands, then I honestly hope you die from swine flu. I really do, because that’s Darwin’s natural selection process just weeding out all the gross and stupid people.
They teach kindergartners to wash their hands and cover their mouths before they even teach them their own addresses and phone numbers. I think Big Bird even sings a song about it.
Speaking of birds, between the swine flu, bird flu and mad cow disease, I think farm animals are trying to send us a message. And that message is “Please stop having sex with us.” I’m talking to you Kansas, Iowa and Missouri.
And just remember, we’ll all get through this swine flu pandemic together.
Except those of us who, you know, actually die.
Contact Jeff Girod at firstname.lastname@example.org