I have been following with interest the latest posts from Bill of the Sticker clan.
He has started a day by day report on the after affects of the Needle. Maybe I should do the same? In the interests of science of course?
Anyways, a while back I got a phone call. It was from Leanne, Doc’s receptionist, who is a Real Fine Thing [but that’s beside the point]. She said that Doc would be calling in to see us on his way home. This of course instigated a moment of blind panic on Herself’s part.
I should explain that two or three weeks ago I visited Doc to get some blood tests. My previous test had shown a marked overload of somethingorother that indicated a problem with the kidneys. This latest test was to see how that errant somethingorother was behaving. A week later I had phoned to see if the results were back and Leanne had said that Doc would phone me that evening. And here she was saying he was calling in instead.
Herself naturally assumed that the blood test had indicated something drastic and that Doc was calling to tell me in person that I only had days to live. She immediately started making plans for my funeral and demanding the codes for the bank accounts. She had reached the point where she was planning which old boyfriend she’d ask to move in when Doc arrived.
“Right” says he. “I’m here to do you both.”
“What?” says Herself.
“Your vaccinations” he replied.
Herself hid her disappointment well. She had been looking forward to life without me and now her dreams were being dashed.
“We talked about this before” says I. “I don’t trust the fucking things.”
“Well, I’m here now and the sooner we can get the numbers up, the sooner they’ll get over the madness.”
I thought about this for a moment. Sure, the worst that could happen is that the vaccine would kill us. Any long term effects would probably be masked by the aches of ageing and wouldn’t be that noticeable.
“Ah fuckit” says I. “Go ahead”.
So he made a great fuss, unwrapping syringes and little bottles and mixing up his little potions. He came over and wiped my shoulder with something cold.
He then repeated the process with Herself.
“Right” says he. “That’s it.”
“But I didn’t feel anything” I said. “Are you telling me I’m needled.?”
“Two more for the numbers”, he replied and started packing his stuff.
“What are you supposed to have given us?”
“Pfizer!”
I asked if he was going to hang around as we had to be observed for a while to make sure we didn’t keel over, but he said he trusted us, whatever that meant. As he was leaving I remembered the blood test and asked him. He shrugged. All normal apparently. My somethingorother was absolutely grand.
After he had gone we started wondering about the immediate effects. Nothing. Neither of us had felt a thing. I waited for a feeling of love and adoration for Bill Gates to wash over me, but it didn’t. I checked my phone and it certainly wasn’t detecting 5G. No aches, no fevers, no nothing. There wasn’t even a mark where he was supposed to have injected us. Sweet fuck all. I then realised that the Pfizer yoke was the one they made the fuss about freezing. I thought it had to be stored in liquid Nitrogen or something and not just lugged around in a doctor’s case?
Had we been Needled?
Or was Doc just being his usual crafty self?
