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Coronavirus Can Now Enter Your Body Through Your Asshole Like A Doctor Checking Your Sensitive Yet Beautiful Prostate

This is an attack the likes have never been seen. If there’s one place, one spot, one village that shouldn’t be entered by the dastardly varmint known as Coronavirus, it’s the toilet. The Geneva conventions exists for reasons such as this. Each persons’ time in the water closet should be a moment of sweet, flowing break in bereavement from the perils of our perilous fate that is 2020.

Imagine sitting on your porcelain waste basket and gathering your thoughts about your daily schedule following your glass of coffee. The kids are in school while also being in your living room (horrible), your instacart order is on the way (delightful) and you get a notification that your favorite military-themed podcast has just dropped a new episode (Incredible).

Wrong. A tentacle of covid 19’s dangerous arm has reached inside your tender, aching butthole like it was remixing Billy Ray Cyrus’ song from yesteryear. All the while, you have no idea that your trip to the toilet has led you down the Old Town Road of pulmonary pain and tasteless tastebuds for the foreseeable future. Death notwithstanding.

To that end I ask simply, coronavirus: have you no fucking shame, you breaker of spirits!? Have you no decency left in your vaingloriously-driven repartee of economic and socio warpath? I ask you humbly, leave our bathrooms alone. We will fight you in the lab and through social distancing. Leave the shitters out of this. I, a diarrhea haver since Easter of 2007, beg you with tears in my eyes. Please leave our toilets. For the love of god, leave our toilets.

You have one day.