Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

After two-plus years of me masking up and vaxxing at every chance, the ‘rona finally showed up on my doorstep.
 
It started with my special girl, who is vaccinated and boosted, having a sore throat on a Sunday. I felt fine. So fine that I went over to a friend’s house. He makes his own beer, and is constantly after me to drink it. This sort of invite is tough to resist, so I went over there and yacked it up with him and a couple other guys over his homemade suds. He mentioned that he had been to a pig roast hosted by a Chinese friend of his the day before. I told that to my girl, who is Jewish, as is Mike.
 
“He is the world’s worst Jew,” my girl said. “Going to a pig roast on Shabbos?”
 
“Judgmental much?” I replied, because personally, I think the world’s worst Jew is Bibi Netanyahu. But we didn’t get into that argument, because her sore throat was worse and I was dispatched to find a Covid test for her. After trips to three different drugstores wearing my newly acquired KN95 mask, which are said to be the best masks even though I think everyone wearing one looks more or less like a duck, I located a couple of home Covid tests. After she took the tests on consecutive days, she announced that she did not have the virus. Her temperature was 99, but that’s normal for her. She’s a hot chick.
 
Along about Thursday, I began to feel a little weird. On Friday I had a cough and a runny nose. I took my temperature and it was 99. That’s a fever for me, because I usually run at about 97.7.
 
I’m a cool guy.
 
The fever went away by the next day and I was left with just the cough and the runny nose. I wouldn’t have bothered with a Covid test at all if I hadn’t been scheduled for a colonoscopy on Wednesday. Those of you who have enjoyed one of those know that you have to drink a gallon of human Drano before the procedure, and I wasn’t about to do that, just to go to the hospital and have them say, “You’re positive for the Omicrud, bra. Go home. Pick up another couple quarts of diarrhea seltzer on your way home, and we’ll try this again in a few weeks.”
 
So, I scrounged up another test. It wasn’t easy. I got it from a guy who would be my stepson-in-law if I was actually married to my girl and her daughter was actually married to him. So, complicated relationship. He had gotten the test from his employer. It was the best test on the market, a battery-powered beauty. It was guaranteed to produce an accurate result in fifteen minutes.
 
Well, it didn’t take nearly that long for the light to flash positive. I was officially the several hundredth millionth victim of the virus worldwide. My girl instantly analyzed the chain of transmission, because placement of blame is important to her. “You got it from Mike and he got it from that pig roast,*” she said.
 
“Maybe it would work that way if it was a Chinese bat roast,” I said. “I got it from you.”
 
“But I was negative.”
 
“You just didn’t do the test right. You’ve got to find the sweet spot in your snot,” I told her.
 
“You got it from Mike,” she said.
 
“You got it from the Door Dash guy.”
 
So that’s the argument that’s kept us amused as we huddle in the house. I’ve never been an anti-masker or an anti-vaxxer, so there’s no need for me to go the hospital and announce to all the people I bad-mouthed Fauci to that, now that I have oxygen tubes running into my nose, I’ve changed my mind. I will never be a candidate for the Herman Cain Award, so there’s no need for me to hop on a ventilator.
 
I’ve had far worse colds. As soon as my free test from Uncle Joe arrives, I expect it to be negative. I’ll be over the ‘cron. Not going to Disneyland, though.
 
It’s warmer in Mexico.
 
*Mike feels fine.

As the coronavirus bulges over the land in the form of the Omicrud variant, wreaking havoc, particularly in hospitals and in the airline industry, vaccinated people are getting pretty fed up with the unvaxxed, who still insist on embracing the virus like it was an ugly second cousin who just won the lottery.
 
Most antivaxxers, at least the male ones, who, as is usual in nature, tend to be the more flamboyant, like to display themselves with firearms, threaten government officials, or drive to DC with a carload of explosives, don’t strike us regular Americans as fraidy-cats. Batshit loonies who could really, really benefit from a daily Seroquel, yes, but physical cowards, no.
 
You wouldn’t for example, call Christopher Key, self-proclaimed chief of the Vaccine Police, a chickenshit, mostly because he is usually photographed with multiple automatic weapons and a flamethrower. Christopher just the other day announced plans to arrest the governor of Louisiana, but he’s postponed that so he could go on a nationwide tour to threaten government officials and other people he regards as equally dangerous, like Walmart pharmacists.
 
Key claims that the virus is a bioweapon, which is typical of an antivaxxer, although there are a vast and florid garden of claims tended by antivaxxers that offer other explanations for the danger of vaccination. It’s microchipped, say some. It messes with your DNA, or your RNA say others, and by others, I mean people who don’t know any more about microchips, DNA or RNA than they do about traditional Kurdish folk songs.
 
A young woman I met at a beer joint the other day (all right, she was the beer-tender) said her boyfriend, who is in the American armed forces, said he was going to refuse the shot because it was just a way for the government to control his life. He got the shot after she told him, “Honey, you’re a US Marine. How could the government possibly control your life any more than it already does?”
 
So, some of them can be reasoned with. Others not, and I think we need to consider the possibility that those people are just afraid of needles. Trypanophobia is a real thing, and while a woman suffering from an irrational fear of needles will simply tell you, “I don’t like needles and don’t put one in me,” a man cannot admit to anything so unmanly. A man will say “Mind-controlling bioweapon that will turn my sperm into dead curlicues that I might shed on my kids every other weekend when I see them. Let's go Brandon!”
 
Just to get out of a jab in the arm. Pussies is the preferred term for what they are. Let’s start calling them that, and watch them line up. 

In as bizarre a talking point as any conceived this year, which means a level of bizarre that maybe even the James Webb Space Telescope couldn’t see from Earth, conservative snack Candace Owens, last featured here when she advocated an invasion of Australia, says the Former Guy should be forgiven for getting vaxxed and boosted because he’s “too old to understand the Internet.”
 
This was an attempt by Owens to get Trump back in good graces with the anti-vax droolers that make up a significant part of his base, even though Trump likes to take credit for inventing the vaccine. Sometimes he makes it sound like he donned a lab coat for it himself. Even Nixon didn’t take credit for the moon landing as if he tightened every bolt on Apollo 11 personally.
 
Bit of a weak point if you ask me—the guy is too old to type a search term in Google, but we’ll all only be safe if we give him back the nuclear football? Owens, the right-wing sweet thing, isn’t trying to say that, naturally. What she is saying is the former Caucasian-in-Chief doesn’t have the tech savvy to burrow past all the normal health, mainstream media and even the regular conservative web sites that blare headlines about the vaccines being safe and effective on the Net, and focus in on that one YouTube video featuring a retired chiropractor standing in front of a chart he drew in his garage that shows the vaccines ripping up your DNA like a possum going through your recycle bin.
 
The too-old-to-understand excuse is uncannily effective for almost everything Trump has ever done. Violated his oath of office? Print was too small for him to read it. Sent a band of yowling yokels to get all stabby and hangy at the Capitol? He put a stop to that as soon as he took a 3 ½ hour Ensure break. Can’t understand that he lost the election? Hey, old folks get confused. Fed the Constitution to that trash-can possum? Too many words in it.
 
Pushing women into closets and groping them? That was flowery romance, back in his day. Telling a porn star he just screwed she reminded him of his daughter? Well, better small talk than saying “My wife is a sex-worker, too,” right? Hanging out backstage at Miss Universe in his bathrobe? Old guys like nothing more than being comfortable.
 
I’m not as old as Trump, but I’m pressing on the doorbell of senior citizenship, and not just once and running away like a UPS guy, but repeatedly, so I’m all in on the Candace version of elder responsibility. Everything vile I’ve ever done is lost in the mists of old age, and any reality denying I want to do in the future must be benignly ignored.
 
Except I understand quite a bit about the Internet. Hope that doesn’t hold me back. 

Unlike the twin pillars of the anti-vaxxer pharmaceutical cabinet, hydroxyquinone and ivermectin, a common antidepressant has been found that actually seems to help with Covid infection.
 
The drug is fluvoxamine, which besides helping you feel a little more chipper about your inevitable decay and death, is also used to treat obsessive-compulsive disorder, so besides recovering from Covid, you’ll also feel more sanguine when someone puts a pair of red socks in your black sock drawer.
 
It cuts hospitalization for Covid by about 40%, which is 40% more than anti-malarial pills and livestock dewormer have been shown to do.
 
This study was done in Brazil, where the vaccine, which prevents hospitalization by 95% or so, may not be as freely available as it is here, where it seems nowadays you can get it at any 7-11. You know how they have the big hot dogs in a case there, close enough to grab but the cashier has to get them for you anyway? The 7-11 vaccine works the same way.
 
I got vaccinated in the early days of the vaccination era, when you had to go to a stadium to get the shot. So far, the only side effect I’ve experienced is that I don’t worry about getting Covid anymore. I’m not magnetic, which would actually be helpful when I inevitably drop a tiny screw into the inaccessible interior of an appliance I’ve been working on. Bill Gates may know I went to BevMo yesterday, again, but so far as I know, he hasn’t tried to brainwash me into joining the United Nations Army.
 
So good for the Brazilians. But will antivaxxers really take an antidepressant, even though it may save their lives? Some people revel in insanity, and by some people I mean anybody that pays attention to Joe Rogan. There is something manly about taking a drug that kills worms or kept the great white hunters of bygone times from getting malaria, but there’s a bit of stigma in taking an antidepressant, even for covid purposes. It implies that trusting your tattoo artist more than the CDC and owning a garage full of guns and all the libs can sometimes make you feel empty inside.
 
On the other hand, gulping a few antidepressants when you’re looking at checking into a hospital can’t help but brisk up your feelings. That fluvoxamine can make your decision to forgo a free vaccine because Tucker Carlson has been poormouthing it seem to shine with the glow of logic, and you can feel all rosy about your chances of beating the virus, even though they’re only about 50% once they wheel you into that ICU.
 
And, hey, if you survive that coin flip, keep on taking that fluvoxamine. Besides being alive, you’ll be able to take your eggs out of the carton in any random way you feel like.

Candace Owens, attractive, multiracial, slobbering right-wing loon-girl, recently suggested that the US invade Australia to free its people from its “totalitarian regime,” and compared the current rulers of Australia to Hitler, Stalin and the Taliban.
 
You may think to yourself "Hmm...invading Australia--what an astonishingly shitty idea!" Candace is in favor of it, though, because Australia occasionally enforces Covid lockdowns, which have kept Australia’s death toll from the pandemic at about 1,500, as opposed to our league-leading 730,000. This difference is not because Australians trust their government and their scientists and are willing to follow their recommendations so as few of them die as possible. It is obviously, at least to Candace Owens, caused by naked oppression.
 
But before the Marines storm ashore at Darwin and unleash a hail of bullets coated with ivermectin in the name of freedom, we need to pause and look at our recent invading history. Possibly Candace shouldn’t have mentioned the Taliban, because they just repeated the Viet Cong’s strategy of successfully defeating the US in a war, which is just to keep fighting us until we get sick of it and leave.
 
When the US loses a war, we don’t invade anyplace for a while, so Australia doesn’t have to worry about beach fortifications immediately. We’ll probably invade a tiny island next (watch out, Bermuda!) to get our flabby invading muscles back in shape. Then, maybe a nice, full-scale invasion that goes well. Then, back to nation-building!
 
But that’s probably a couple decades down the road. Australia presents unique problems as a place to invade if we decide to go that route. It’s big, and thinly populated. You have to invade at the right spots, or you won’t be able to find anybody to shoot at all. It’s full of man-eating crocodiles and hard-chomping deadly spiders too, not just the occasional bad-tempered camel, although Australia does have some of them as well.
 
The Australian back country is populated by bogans, which are the Australian equivalent of hillbillies, minus the gloss of evangelical Christianity. Like rural Americans, they are often drunk and love to fight. They have a belligerent love of country, which often expresses itself as a willingness to thump on nonwhite people. They, like American yick-a-doos, would probably present no more than a minor annoyance to a professional invading force, but they think they’re hardasses, so you never know.
 
Plus, we have no plans to invade Australia, and by that, I mean maybe we do. The Pentagon is supposed to have a plan for everything, and for 750 billion a year, they should. But if you’re the desk jockey that gets told, “Colonel, you’re the guy who needs to develop a strategy for invading Australia. Here’s an office, a map, and some plastic ships and soldiers to push around,” you can probably kiss your chances of being a Joint Chief of Staff someday goodbye.
 
We just sold Australia some nuclear submarines too, which pissed off the French and is a dumb thing to do right before you invade somebody. Sell them submarines, that is, not piss off the French. You can brown off France anytime you want to. It’s easy, and there are no consequences.
 
But if Candace’s dreams come true and on some day in the near future an American armada is steaming off the coastline down under, ready to fire hydroxyquinone missiles at the outback, and American fighting men are set to land on Australia’s beaches and rip off every mask they see, don't prepare for an epic Australian resistance, because the Australians are just going to stand there with their arms crossed and say, “Ya got to be fuckin’ kiddin,' mate.”
 
It will be the first war lost because of utter embarrassment. Our only hope is to have Candace lead the troops.
 
Because that lady can’t be embarrassed.

Satan checked in with me the other day. It’s been much easier dealing with the Prince of Darkness since the pandemic. He used to appear to me in person, in a burst of soot and brimstone, which meant I had to vacuum and spray Febreze around the house before my Significant Other came home.
 
Now we just use Zoom. I can usually summon Satan just by drawing a pentagram in Paint, but talking to the Lord of All Evil wasn’t on my mind when Lucifer opened a chat window and began complaining.
 
Hey, what’s up with that? I asked. You can just burst onto my screen spontaneously? I wasn’t even watching porn.
 
“As long as your IP address is visible. Avast and Norton keep warning you about that, but you keep ignoring it. Got a lot more hackers down here since the Covid got started. A lot more of everyone else, too.”
 
That’s good. I’m glad business is good.
 
“It presents problems. You keep adding room temperature souls to the Fiery Pit, you have to keep turning up the thermostat. My energy costs are through the roof.”
 
Wait…you have to pay your own heating bill?
 
“I made a deal with Putin to lay down a gas line here. Here’s a tip for you—never sign a contract with that prick. I keep telling him, Vlad, you’re going to end up here, and I've got every screenwriter who ever went to Hell, which is most of them, working on creative ways to roast you for all eternity. How about you give me a little discount? He just laughs and tacks on another couple euros a cubic foot. I pay it, because I’ve got souls to burn.”
 
So, all the anti-vaxxers—they go to eternal torment when they die of Covid?
 
“Oh, hell no. Not the really stupid ones. The Other Guy is stuck with them. Marjorie Taylor-Greene ain’t ever gonna darken the door of Eternal Darkness. I have standards. God doesn’t mind the dumb ones so much. ‘I created them. I forget why, though. Nowadays, I just give them a harp and tell them to sing Rock of Ages for a few thousand years. Then I shut the door on them and go back to the bar.’ That’s a direct quote, from my Eternal Nemesis.”
 
Been meaning to ask—is there a bar at your place?
 
“Only for my imps. Sorry, dude. And they spend too much time there, instead of flaying the souls of the damned like they should be. Ever since they got that union…well, we’ve talked about that before. But they’ve got a contract, and when souls show up that especially need filleting, they have to be on it.”
 
So, all those right-wing radio guys that told their audiences not to get vaxxed and then died of the covid themselves…
 
“Getting sodomized with glowing iron augers right now. And some of the smaller imps dress up as the dwarves from Snow White while we’re doing it and sing, Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Up Your…”
 
I can fill in the blanks.
 
“The higher their ratings went when they spread bullshit, the deeper we go. But it’s more than just them. Everybody that sent someone a link to Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. or where to buy ivermectin online, they’re coming here, too.”
 
What about people like Joe Rogan, who pretend to be giving out objective information but in reality are just shitting on science?
 
“You’re going to love this one for Joe. Chained by hot iron links in an eternal unnatural sex position with Rush Limbaugh.”
 
But Rush is already there, isn’t he?
 
“Yeah, but Rush’s getting tired of being chained to Herman Cain. Guy’s a fucking racist, if you ask me.”

​New Hampshire State Representative Ken Wyler proved once again this week that it is possible, even likely, that one can achieve a position of prominence in middle-level state politics and yet qualify for a diagnosis of mental illness or, at the least, severe cognitive disability.
 
The Representative treated the rest of his colleagues on the New Hampshire House Fiscal Committee to a document titled "Vaccine Death Report" that linked Covid vaccines to 5G, Satan, a shadowy individual that really runs the Catholic Church on its “Luciferian” mission called the Grey Pope, and claimed that a microscopic study of the Moderna and the J&J vaccines revealed that they were “full of little tentacled creatures that seemed to be self-aware.”
 
Most of these revelations don’t affect me. 5G, in my understanding, is just a way of reviewing sludge on the Internet even faster than you can now, and keeping the cat videos you love on Facebook from  buffering up on you right when they reach their apogee of cute.
 
I don’t have much to do with any color of Pope, let alone a grey one. The Catholic Church may indeed be a tool of Satan, but if that’s the case, Satan loves pudgy little altar boys with flawless white skin, because that’s who they keep finding archbishops naked with.
 
Those little tentacled creatures have me worried, though, for I am full of Moderna. Sometimes I think I feel them grabbing my insides, but that could be a side effect of the hot sauce I regularly load on my taquitos in such quantities that I might as well just be hitting them up with bear spray.
 
Otherwise, I seem to be unaffected. I don’t find myself doing stuff that's much different than what I did before I was vaccinated. I don’t drink light beer, for example, and I haven’t found myself coming out of an amnesiac spell waiting in the line at a 7-11 with a 30-pack of Busch Natural Light in each hand. I don’t eat Pop Tarts, Hot Pockets or at Applebee’s, things I expect I would be doing if I was being mind-controlled by the Grey Pope.
 
I email Bill Gates, asking him if he knows where I am. He always answers “Drinking again,” which is technically true, but nobody who knows me needs to put a chip in me to figure that out.
 
Of course, I could be whistling past the graveyard. Someday, the tentacled monsters could seize control of my will and I could find myself marching in the United Nations Army, Transgendered Restroom Division, helping to pull the plug on the US as we know it.
 
What makes it worse is that my Significant Other is also vaccinated. She’s a J&J woman, so she would be subject to the will of the Grey Pope as well, which would really piss her off, because she’s Jewish.
 
In the meantime, I work with it. The next time we have a disagreement, I plan to say to her, “You don’t mean that. That’s the little tentacled creatures in you talking.”
 
Might work. It also might have me sleeping in the garage before the weekend’s over.

​Tucker Carlson, highly-rated sputterer of senselessness, burst onto the nighttime cable waves last week with a major scoop about the US military covid vaccine mandate, claiming it was an effort by Joe Biden to weed “Christians and men with high testosterone” out of the US military.
 
Why Christians are particularly eager to get their numbers thinned by Covid is left to the imagination. Men with high testosterone are presumably ready to go to the mat with the virus at any time, sneering at death and being intubated on a respirator like any manly man should.
 
Carlson also claimed that the vaccine mandate was designed to weed out disobedient soldiers, although the military usually promotes the virtue of obedience, particularly in the arena of obeying orders, and one of the standing orders in the military is that its members take almost every vaccine ever formulated, including ones that aren’t even recommended for regular Americans unless they book a cruise up the most microbe-infested tributary of the Amazon.
 
Whether it’s taking a vaccine or a machine gun nest, the US military expects you to do what you’re told.
 
It is odd that Tucker should go on this rage-bender about testosterone, since even his biggest fans would hardly consider him a fount of male hormones. Nobody looks at Tucker, a downy-faced 50-something year old and says to themselves, “That dude is a walking test-fest. I would probably get a contact boner just by touching him.”
 
In fact, Tucker was recently accosted in a public by a man who identified him as “the worst human being in the world.” Tucker did not inflict a beat-down on his critic on the spot, as would any guy with an above-average amount of t coursing through his red-blooded American arteries would. He backed meekly away.
 
I mean, almost anybody who regularly appears on Fox looks like they could kick Tucker’s ass. Hannity, certainly. He’d stand a better chance with Laura Ingraham, but my money is still on Laura. Ann Coulter? Tucker would breathe his last underneath her sharpened hooves.
 
Geraldo? Ok, maybe he could take Geraldo.
 
There are certain people that belong on the high-testosterone pantheon on which Tucker longs to be placed himself. Hulk Hogan. Dwayne Johnson, although the Rock seems pretty affable for a guy who loses more testosterone when he clips his fingernails that Carlson will ever have in his whole life. Or UFC fighter Conor McGregor, who is so whopping full of testosterone that he has never said anything that didn’t get him in trouble in his entire career.
 
Hmmm…maybe I’m missing the point about Tucker.

The most famous testicles in all the world now nestle in Trinidad, thanks to pop star Nicki Minaj’s series of tweets regarding the side effects of a coronavirus vaccine.
 
This friend-of-a-cousin has yet to be identified by Minaj, so it seems that while his nads are enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame, he will remain anonymous himself. His story is a sad one, though. After getting a covid jab (which one is also anonymous) NMFC, as we will refer to this unfortunate soul, experienced testicular swelling and impotence, causing his fiancée to cancel their impending wedding.
 
In Minaj’s telling, this luckless Trinidadian lost both love and his boner on account of the vaccine. Now he has swollen balls of the blue variety, and those fat nuts dominate the Twittersphere.
 
Minaj urges her followers to “do their research,” before submitting themselves to the risk of ball-swelling and peen shrinkage that may be a side effect of the vaccine.
 
Minaj’s musical repertoire includes Bottom’s Up, Bang-Bang and Anaconda, which implies that she’s done her research into balls and dongs, and rather extensively at that. What she isn’t is a viral epidemiologist, and while many viral epidemiologists may softly rap the lyrics of Anaconda to themselves while they work, or even modify those lyrics to make them relevant to the lab, i.e., titrate that shit on me, baby, those people agree pretty unanimously that getting vaxxed doesn’t have gonadal side effects.
 
What does make your nads swell is a plain old STD like gonorrhea or chlamydia, and a known cause of chubby loss is your fiancée shrieking “Get that diseased thing out my face!”
 
Regarding this alternate theory on NMCF, Nicki is scheduled for a call from a White House doctor to patiently explain it to her, in hopes that she will recant and urge her followers to get vaccinated, and the Minister of Health for Trinidad had a major public hissy about how full of shit Minaj was.
 
And, speaking of people who are not qualified to do their own research, I can confidently report that after taking two experimental shots of Moderna, blindly following the advice of the CDC, the lovable ovals in my own trousers have experienced neither swelling, shrinking or hair loss.
 
Turns out that sheep have naturally big balls.

Last week, it was noted here that several famous anti-vax voices have been stilled by the ‘rona, and that a couple of them, at least, had recanted their disgust with the vaccinated "sheep" on their deathbeds. That, such as it is, is the good news.

The bad news is that Joe Rogan, that well-paid celebrator of medium intelligence, has the covid. The worse news is that he's announced that he's taking de-wormer for it.
 
The even worse news is the virus hasn’t shut up many of the other living anti-vaxxers. The virtues of the anti-parasitical drug ivermectin against the plague are being shouted from conservative rooftops, making it this year’s hydroxyquinone, with people being rushed to the hospital for taking horse de-wormer to keep from getting covid, as opposed to last year, when they were dying of eating aquarium cleaner to keep the virus at bay.
 
The difference is, there is now an effective treatment for covid. Last year there was none. If you suspected you had been infected you didn’t have much alternative other than drinking the contents of your tank full of guppies and hoping for the best.
 
Of course, these professional aginners don’t make their cheese by humbly acknowledging that the CDC could rid us of the pandemic if we’d only take their advice. Now they’ve jumped on the ivermectin bandwagon as the only sure cure for covid, despite there being a sure cure for covid, and several of them tweeted snottily the other day that ivermectin won the Nobel Prize back in 2015, so therefore the libs were once again being owned badly.
 
Ok, drugs don’t win Nobel Prizes. People who invent drugs do, and one of the people who formulated avermectin, of which ivermectin is a derivative, is named Satoshi Ōmura, which is an Asian name, so not worthy of being celebrated by a podcast host whose audience just melts for direct racism. So, in their telling, the drug got the prize, which Omura well-deserved, because avermectin is effective against river blindness and elephantiasis, serious illnesses that have affected hundreds of thousands of people where they are endemic. Which is Africa.
 
River blindness not so much an issue in Arizona, where they barely have any rivers to speak of, but people are gobbling veterinary ivermectin in the Grand Canyon State like it was garbage and they were possums, and ending up in emergency rooms, pooping out blood and most of their lymph glands.
 
The difference between a parasite and a virus is not clear to these people, clearly, but big-mouthed mercenary murderers don’t care, so let me put it in terms they can understand.
 
Taking ivermectin for your covid is like taking insulin for your hemorrhoids.
 
While all the while the drugstore shelves are bulging with Preparation H.
 
‘Nuff said.