“It’s a miracle,” I’m saying on the telephone to Boris Johnson. “I’m so glad you’re better. Did they inject your lungs with bleach?”
Boris says he doesn’t think so.
“Because it kills everything,” I say. “Women tell me.”
“Including prime ministers?” says the prime minister.
“Or,” I continue, “they could have used bright lights. So bright. Me, I love light. This tan, it’s not paint. Those pillows always looked like that. Very expensive. But the science guys, they tell me that if you took everybody with coronavirus and plunged them into the sun? No more virus. Dead. Gone.”
“Right,” says Boris. “But no. I think they used … medicine?”
“Ah,” I say, wisely. “Alternative therapies.”
“I’m making sourdough,” says Boris. “I should go.”
I’ve had great ratings my whole life. But right now, more people are watching my press conferences than watched the Super Bowl. I don’t get a percentage. I haven’t even thought about it. But you know, I spoke to the TV guys and I said to them, “Hey, can you even think of anything that people would watch more?” And they said, “No! Except maybe for an actual warning about the end of the world! Or perhaps a show in which you got attacked by a bear?”
Of course the Fake News Lamestream media don’t give me any credit for that, but do I care? It’s sad. We all know. I’m as popular as the end of the world. Or being eaten by a bear. Maybe I’m not so bad at this. That’s all I’m saying. Sad.
I’m talking with that old doctor dude, Fauci, and I’m telling him I’ve got an idea. And that idea is condoms.
“Sir,” says Fauci, “sexual transmission is not thought to be a major … ”
“Not down there,” I say, impatiently. “Over the head.”
Fauci doesn’t say anything.
“It’s like,” I continue, “nothing goes in or out. Mouth. Nose. Totally sealed.”
Fauci says something about breathing.
“Hey,” I shrug, “I’m not a doctor. Although I could have been. Maybe the best ever? People say.”
Fauci asks which people, out of interest.
“You don’t know them,” I tell him.
I love thinking about this stuff. And I’m good at it! So many thoughts.
Some of them, the doctors have never had before. Even the medical doctors.
Some are so impressed they sob. It’s so humbling. For them.
For example, I’m saying to my other top doctor, that lady with the scarf, the thing with the disinfectants. They kill it, right? So fast. So the question is how to get them from outside the body to inside the body. And I’ve asked Jared to look into it. Because the solution may be orifices.
Which he has, by the way. Ivanka tells me. Despite looking like he has none. And it’s very exciting.
“Are we,” says the scarf doctor lady, “on television?”
“Also,” I say, “sunlight. Because that’s effective, too, right? And we have some great sunlight. My place in Florida has the best, maybe we could do some deals. But what I’m thinking, mainly, is that we open people up. Let the light in. American light. To their lungs. Their hearts. Their kidneys.
“And what happens then?”
The scarf lady says they die.
“But not of the virus?” I say.
“Oh God my life,” she says.
“Amazing,” I say. “We’ve cracked it.”
So much sneering about the disinfectant thing! Even from the company which owns Vanish and Cillit Bang. Terrible products. Women tell me. But I don’t have a favourite, I’m neutral.
They’re saying you can’t put it into humans. Not even into Jared. But have they even tried?
Does anybody else have these ideas? Bold, new ideas that they’ve just come up with and will then share with eerie confidence to millions of people, whom they could literally kill? No! So lazy. It’s just me. And people love it! My ratings! Everybody is jealous. Even the virus is probably jealous.
I’m so viral. More viral. Everything it does, I do better. Hey, have we tried rat poison yet? Because I’ve heard it works on rats. Look, I’m just throwing it out there. Who knows?
*According to Hugo Rifkind