Defecating bloody fecal discharge, as excruciating as it is, doesn't mitigate a sense of liberation that the onset of Ebola would provide, so in that sense I'll walk myself back from the fear expressed in my post that made it on TinderNews. Investigating the website yielded no answers as to what kind of media outlet Tinder is, frustrating, as I'm always on the lookout for jobbers I can handle. Hygiene for a population of 7 billion fairly large hairless primates is evidently cracking, as superbacteria invade institutional environments. Exposure to pathogens builds immunity, and that should lead to reconsideration of getting dirty in natural environments once in awhile. I think humans are doomed, too vulnerable, with our optimism and faith misplaced, regardless of hand sanitizer.
In the months before AIDS felled my little brother Nicholas, dead mother brought him to my inner city apartment. "Kiss him," she said, preparing for departure. The poor lad was out of his mind, wan, with our brown Italian eyes, glazed with the passion of death and the void of toxic decomposition. It would be the last time I set eyes on a family psychopath everyone loved and shielded from the amoral consequences of his brutality. I backed away in fear. Given what was in store, I should have swung a punch, split his lip, and took the hardy and clever virus in. Midas magic one way or the other, but does everyone's luck against the clock run out? Hard to say.
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