Many years ago a friend of mine told me that he’d been part of a small party of friends visiting one of the huge and glittering casino-hotels of downtown Las Vegas and one of his friends did something the management frowned upon. This was back when Las Vegas casino management were accurately portrayed by Bob De Niro and Joe Pesci in “Good Fellas” (totally not like it is today. Is it?) so some very muscle-bound gentlemen in rumpled suits ushered the man into a small back room office where the head manager gave his face a fistful of good advice. It was an image that stuck in my imagination and it seems to fit this feverish time I’m living in right now.
It’s an AI driven, virtual reality Covid Casino, this world I’m lost in. The bells and beeps resound on every side, the lights flash, the glitter balls sparkle, the dealers bark, the pretty girls coo and flash their smiles. Everything is designed to make me bet a million I don’t have on the fall of the dice. Step up to the table, put it all on black and roll them bones and make ‘em bounce against the back wall. What will it be, boxcars or snake eyes? I know what I’m losing if I lose. What will I win if I win?
Considering that those bones I’m rolling are my old bones with my only bodily flesh wrapped around them, let me tote up the stakes in some rational manner.
What do I stand to lose? What happens if I take the Pfizer or Moderna “vaccine” and I just happen to get jabbed with the contents of the wrong batch number, the one with a massive percentage of mRNA gene grenades wrapped in PEG nano-envelopes spewing trillions of sub-microscopic needles they call ’spike proteins’ swimming in a soup of graphene oxide micro-razors? The consequences of that disaster are a matter of public record and plain to see. Tens of thousands of people who took these jabs have lost their lives within days or even hours and hundreds of thousands have suffered micro blood clots which have played hell with their hearts, lungs, nerves and brains. The numbers of these losers are official CDC/VAERS numbers and as such they are guaranteed to be at best 10% of the real toll. The management of the Covid Casino assures me that those numbers are statistically insignificant and I can be confident I won’t get a punch in the face from Doctor Death.
Ok. What do I win if I win? I get to not be worse off than I was. I get to still be able to go out to a restaurant or a movie theatre like I did before. Do I get to not wear a mask over my nose and mouth? No. Do I get to be otherwise free to be free as I was before? As long as I have a nice green colour on my smart phone screen when I flash my Proof of Vaccination – OOPS! It turned red! Looks like I‘ll have to play the game of death all over again because I need a BOOSTER, absolutely just one more booster and that’s it, says the casino management. Until next time. Do I get to not be sick from Covid or Variants, do I get total immunity by getting jabbed twice or three times? No I don’t. In fact the majority of Covid cases in hospitals right now are people who have gotten their jabs. These jabs used to have “side effects” but now they have “breakout infections” which are exactly the same as the Side Effects.
Excuse the heck outa me. But I think I need to consider that a gambler ought to know when to walk away and when to run, as Kenny Rogers advised. So I’m going to pick another game. I’m going to gamble with this Covid disease instead of the jabs. What are the odds?
We’re all well advised that the original Covid-19 disease gave us an average 99.95% chance of a mild disease indistinguishable from a bout of the flu. Even if we are elderly, even five years more decrepit than this here old cuss, and in a nursing home because we have diabetes, COPD and maybe even another condition bound to take us off within weeks and we get some of these Covid symptoms? What do we have?
We have an average 95% chance of surviving the disease – as long as we are still mentally competent enough to not let them jab us. Or give us Remdesivir which shuts down our kidneys and fills our lungs with water, and then sedate us, jam a ventilator tube down our unconscious throats and turn up the pressure so our lungs explode. If we are younger than 50 we have a 99.9% chance of having a disease so mild we may not even realize we had anything worse than a bad cold. If we are children under 18 our natural survival rate if we get any Covid-like symptoms is 99.998%. And the really great news is that having gotten and survived SARS-CoV-2 we have immunity for the rest of our lives against it or any similar coronavirus.
Hell! That’s the game I’d rather play.
But those stats are from the original SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus. What about the Delta Variant? Very contagious, which means it spreads more easily so more people get it. How does it do that? It has mutated! That’s a scary word. Mutants are scary. They could be Colossal Ants or Amazing Colossal Women stamping on our poor shrunken nuts or they could be Godzilla!
Was Delta Godzilla? No. It’s milder than the C-19. Is Omicron Godzilla? Hardly. The Doctor who found it in her patients in South Africa, Dr Angelique Coetzee, screwed up the whole Mutant Variant Scare Industry by reporting right away to the global general public that her patients were getting a few days of drowsiness and a sore throat, not even as bad as a bout of flu.
We’ve all heard those very well substantiated rumours that SARS-CoV-2 was manufactured in medical laboratories owned by the Pharmaceutical giants, principally Pfizer. Are we right to assume the so-called variants are also lab-created?
I’m thinking not. I’m thinking that the original lab-created SARS-2 coronavirus, once released into the microbiome, has to now get up and compete with the myriads of natural viruses and the animal immune system and survive by evolving quickly to be milder so it can spread faster and wider and thus take its place as an endemic disease which uses but doesn’t kill us, its natural host. I’m thinking the laboratory boys and girls who cut and snipped and stitched the viral genome to create what they thought would be a scary virus don’t actually know beans about the natural world.
The virus is getting more wimpy and unthreatening with every passing week. Omicron is a two-foot tall plastic Godzilla that couldn’t even scare a five year old. So how in the Sam Hill are Pfizer going to scare us into buying their jab? Huston, we have a problem.