For much of the sane world, or whatever’s left of it, the plandemic theatre is over. But some places refuse to let go. The following was observed during a 20-minute wait in line at a Walgreens pharmacy in early June.
— Christopher Hitchens
The packed family minivans pulled up to the drive-thru window visible through the plexiglass wall of the interior pharmacy in the back. The man working the drive-thru was younger than thirty, yet weighed over three hundred pounds. His fat rolls melted down to his knees concealing half his upper legs, torso, and hips. If he wasn’t on cholesterol, heart, diabetes, and a host of other drugs himself, he soon would be. Maybe he’ll get an employee discount.
He sat slouched toward the exterior drive-thru window, presumably on a sturdy stool all of which was concealed by his massive girth, while barking half coherent orders through a face diaper into a microphone at the families who all dutifully wore masks, inside their cars, on a hot summer day.
“You’re going to test yourself first, then your children!” He barked at them in a serious tone that said the pandemic was far from over, and everyone was in grave danger unless they knew with precision PCR certainty if they had the sniffles or not. To Walgreens’ delight, the government (taxpayers) would subsidize these tests along with millions of others for an indefinite time frame.
Making sure everyone “gets tested” is a boon to these corporations and a useful tool for politicians to push for more restrictions to justify their coming mid-term election fraud. Though Portland doesn’t really need to rely on election fraud with people so eager to keep reelecting their tormentors.
In front of the pharmacy, the shelves were lined with every product conceivable related to Branch Covidian theatre: pulse oximeters, Binax-Now self-testing kits for $25-a-pop; boxes of hundreds of cheap plastic-particulate-laden Chinese-made disposable masks eager to be used and disposed of so each one can wrap around and suffocate sea life; disposable gloves; aspirin; nasal sprays; digital thermometers; if it has ever been advertised over the past two years and imprinted in the collective memory of the hive-minded Covidian, Walgreens is eager to sell it.
When they say the pandemic is not over, what they mean is, there’s still vaccines to be taken, goal posts to be moved and money to be made.
Change my mind?
— Herb Powell – 🇨🇦🇺🇸🇩🇪 (@Humanlty1o1) July 11, 2022
The family outside the drive-thru ran around their minivan poking each other’s nasal cavities as if the world will end soon if they don’t know the condition of their own health as determined by faulty testing.
“Maybe they’re flying somewhere that still has strict guidelines for entry?” I wondered before telling myself to live and let live. I tried to live and let live, but it didn’t last more than a moment as a family came tip-toeing past me inside the store as if measuring their distance from me while giving me the evil eye for not wearing a mask.
Outside the insanity continued. The ensuing family minivan pulled up, everyone inside was also wearing masks. The theatre of the absurd was repeated. Sodium azide pokers, red faces, watery eyes, sneezing, wincing, racing around the car like a Chinese fire drill, father and mother poking their children toward safety and security while a morbidly obese man in a paper mask yelled instructions at them through a microphone.
Another car, SUV, and minivan followed with similar variations of the testing theatre. Either a lot of families were traveling to some highly restrictive biomedical state like New Zealand or the people who populate dysfunctionally neurotic blue state cities like Portland, Oregon are well conditioned through fearful social contagions to keep the plandemic performances alive.
What will be the reward for such blind obedience to political science that demands subordination through cultish behavior?
