So… you’re not getting vaccinated. Maybe you’re concerned about the three vaccines being FDA “authorized” and not “approved.” Maybe you have a phobia of needles. Maybe you’re complacent. Or maybe you just find it really empowering to walk around as a discrete biological weapon.
Cool.
You do you.
But if you’re going to opt out, consider some alternative methods to attain immunity.
The first known immunization was performed in 1796, in England. I’ll give you this random and unrelated screenshot from the CDC website to scroll past while you try and hypothesize how this was done.
If you said, “Scraping smallpox pus off a milkmaid’s hand and placing it on an eight-year old’s exposed vein,” then you googled it, so shut up.
Maybe this method sounds attractive to you, maybe you feel like making vaccines great again and returning to the good old days when a dapper British doctor slapped some all-natural, lesion-fresh pus straight into your blood. MAYBE THIS IS FOR YOU. It shouldn’t, because, ya know, getting sick with extra steps barely seems like immunization, but hey, you want an alternative.
So. How do we translate this to COVID-19?
I guess if you want to be expedient, I’d recommend going to a local hospital. Run into the front lobby. Sob uncontrollably. Blabber something about needing to see your COVID-19 infected grandmother. If anyone asks for her name, just wail “I’M COMING GRANDMA!!!” Keep up the theatrics until you persuade them to let you through. If they insist on you giving a name, just tell them that, in your emotional distress, you can only think of her as “Dear, sweet Grandma WHAAAAABOOHOO.” Once you’re left alone in the room containing the unconscious old woman you insistently identify as your grandmother, you need to do your best to get some viral droplets. I recommend placing a glass bowl over the patient’s face until it has fogged up. Then seal the bowl to your face with plastic wrap, inhale for a while, and then go check yourself into the hospital at the front desk.
Or, you could just go to an Ohio State party over the weekend.
Either way, in a few weeks, you’ll be dead or immune. Yay.
If you’d rather not gamble with Death Itself, then… well. Go get vaccinated. But if that still isn’t an option, we’ll move on to herd immunity.
The Hypocrite Method. Basically, harass all your friends, family, and close acquaintances to get vaccinated until you’ve engineered a social circle that buffers you from any health risk. Try lines like: “I don’t understand how people can be so selfish. It’s our responsibility to get vaccinated.” Or, “Get vaccinated or I’ll never speak to you again.” Best yet, “People who don’t get vaccinated should just be put in prison. They’re basically murderers.” Offer to carpool your reckless, self-absorbed friends who didn’t get the vaccine as early as (you told them) you did. Technically, if you see yourself as the center of the universe, this charade makes perfect sense. Let everyone else’s collective immunity hold you in its sweet embrace.
Last up, and most effectively—blood transfusion. Yup. Vampirism. This is where your life choices have led you. Start discreetly asking your vaccinated or post-COVID friends about their blood types. Bring it up as a casual discussion topic. You’re looking for either a match or, better still, type O, the universal blood type. Because once you’ve got your friend strapped down, by force or manipulation, a pint-sized syringe stuck in their arm, you can always take a little extra. A lot extra, even. Find some like-minded anti-vaxxers and sell them some of that sweet, antibody laden nectar. Imagine that. Profiting off your friends and the people who share your deepest fears and/or misinformation theories!
These are directions to a Krispy Kreme Donuts:
The Kenyon Thrill 