The key to world peace is grandkids. If enough of the world leaders had grandkids they wouldn’t have time to create their own mischief, they’d be too busy cleaning up after their grandkid’s mischief. Or they’d be too sick to care.
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The key to world peace is grandkids. If enough of the world leaders had grandkids they wouldn’t have time to create their own mischief, they’d be too busy cleaning up after their grandkid’s mischief. Or they’d be too sick to care.
My wife and I came to the rescue of our daughter and son-in-law a couple of weekends ago, when everyone in their household entered CDC’s biosafety level 3 contamination, but we were totally unprepared for the viral onslaught that awaited us on the other side of the front door.
Besides the coarse, fluid-filled hacking coughs and the constant sniffling and snorting of spent snot, what surprised me the most was the amount of mucus that two, day-school aged children could generate. Mounds of it. Piles of it. Unending flows of it from every orifice imaginable. When they cried, their tear ducts burst with mucus. When they sneezed it became airborne. Our granddaughter’s upper lip was constantly encrusted with the goo, and the harder we wiped the more it poured forth.
Yellow mucus, green mucus, clear mucus. It was everywhere. Even the dogs were covered in it. The living room looked like a scene from Ghostbusters when the poltergeists go on a slime spree.
We quickly realized we were severely under armed and if we were to have any hope of staving off a complete takeover by these gooey legions of phlegm we would need reinforcements. Lots of reinforcements. Rubber gloves, masks, plastic bibs, more masks, cough syrup, children’s Tylenol, more gloves, alcohol for sterilization, medicinal alcohol of the 50 proof variety, Lysol spray and more masks and gloves soon filled several shopping carts at the neighborhood pharmacy.