Coronawhat, Now?

The time has come, yet again, to craft an unbelievably hilarious humor piece, at once demonstrating my peerless wit and charm while leaving no doubt that the lethal coronavirus sweeping the globe has barely crossed my mind.

Let’s get down to business. Perhaps I’ll drum up a bit on how we can’t even make airplane peanut jokes anymore because no airline still offers them. No, no that’s no good: Airplanes and travel and maybe even food are off limits. Because of, well, nothing. Never mind. Moving on.

Is that a siren? Is someone sick?

Alas, there’s no cause for alarm! I’ve forgotten that, in an effort to make a smooth transition to my inevitable month-long quarantine, I’ve begun watching, alphabetically, every movie available to me. I’m currently on “G,” streaming that scene in The Goonies where Mouth isn’t sure if the police chase is coming from the TV or not.

Time to focus. My creative loins have given birth to this gem of an idea: Seven dirty words, updated for 2020.


I watched one of those videos for how to wash your hands properly and the guy was using a little brush to get under his nails. Checking Amazon. Little nail brushes are $86. And aren’t on Prime. And will be delivered by June 17, 2023.

Let’s all remain calm here. No problem at all.

Working out of the coffee shop—in public, surrounded by various other human beings who may or may not have watched the how-to-wash-your-hands-properly video—is shaping up just fine.

Well, except for the facts that I’ve seen two people blow their noses, everyone is touching their faces like they’re auditioning for a gig at Mary Kay and one guy is drinking tea. You’re busted, tea guy: Only sick people and hippies drink tea, and I’m not seeing a ponytail or hemp necklace from where I’m sitting.

I think I just touched my face, too.

Back on track. This is The Idea, no doubt about it: an homage to Steve Martin’s “King Tut.” The lyrics will satirize the current Egyptian president, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, mostly relying on the implication that he’s a sissy. Let’s just do a quick search to see if…oh, shit, yep: The coronavirus is in Egypt, too.


Pretty sure the gentleman closest to me is reading The Death of Ivan Ilyich in preparation for his imminent demise. I can’t believe this. We are all doomed.

Upon closer inspection, it looks like it’s a copy of InStyle.

Pull it together, man.

Wait. Did that woman two tables over just cough? No, forget it. I paused The Goonies and I’m listening to “Sweet Leaf” by Black Sabbath.

Black. Sabbath.

Of course. It’s another fucking New York Times push alert.

Now, why did—why did—why did that customer just purchase three pounds of coffee? Why would he buy that much coffee? He must be hoarding coffee. He must know something I don’t know.

Nice guy. Said he got an email from the shop about buying two pounds and getting one free.

Oh my god: Is that a group of kids running from the coronavirus as it spreads throughout our country, picking us off one by one? Ah, nope: I turned The Goonies back on again. Whoops. Fratellis, not coronavirus. Classic mix-up.

I surrender.