WHAT THE HEALTH?

Faster than you can say "Omicron sounds like a Transformers villain,” the Centers For Disease Control took a bold step backward yesterday, March 1st, by dropping the five-day isolation rule for COVID-19. Changing COVID guidelines has become one of the CDC’s favorite pastimes, right up there with confusing the heck out of us. They could have at least waited until April 1st to spring this on the public.

Remember the good ol' days of 2020, when a ten-day isolation was the gold standard? The CDC cut that down to five days a year later, since most workers don't have the luxury of ten sick days to waste being infectious. Fast forward to this election year, and the time-honored tradition of spending five days at home being sick in your sweat pants, questioning your life choices while streaming an unhealthy amount of TV, has been cut shorter than a politician abandoning his promise to follow the science and ensure the public's well-being after taking office.

If you happen to be one of those people still tracking the data, you might be scratching your head. "But wait," you say, as you adjust your glasses in disbelief, "aren't hospitalization rates still higher than my anxiety levels at family gatherings?" With almost 20,000 people finding themselves in a hospital bed each week thanks to our little viral friend, this new guideline has the same energy as saying, "No need for helmets if you're only planning to crash your motorcycle moderately!" Of course there are other people paying attention to the data from other very official sources, like their uncle's Facebook post about Alex Jones's theory that the COVID virus is actually a plot perpetrated by the same people using Taylor Swift to turn the youth of America into Biden supporting socialists, one catchy pop anthem at a time. This latest decision by the CDC will only add to their conspiratorial beliefs that COVID was always nothing more than a bad cold or mild case of the flu, while simultaneously being a plot to overthrow Donald Trump and install a New World Order.

The real conspiracy seems to be the sheer fantasy of expecting people who are gig workers or with part time jobs to isolate without the cushion of paid sick leave. Those who feel like death warmed over are probably going to have little choice but stay home or go to the ER, but only ~30% of people who test positive for Covid usually have a fever. Most people testing positive are infectious for ~10 days, while ~80% of people who test positive are infectious for at least 5 days after symptom onset. These are the folks who will have to practice "coughing responsibly" and wear an N95 mask to prevent spreading the virus to others when they skip isolating and head back to work.

Source: https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2797070

Trump Wins 51% in Iowa Caucasians-A Landslide!!!

Iowa, where the corn is as high as an elephant's eye, and the political temperatures are even colder than the weather. The Trump faithful, those brave souls, bundled up in their MAGA hats, marched through the arctic tundra of Iowa to caucus. A round of applause, folks. They're out there making sure the world knows that Trump is as inevitable as climate change – which, by the way, they still think is a hoax cooked up by vegetarian socialists.

Meanwhile, back at the panic room, Establishment Democrats are breaking out the emergency champagne, toasting to their favorite pastime: hysterical fearmongering. Because nothing says 'democracy' like scaring the living daylights out of your base.

And then there's good ol' Joe Biden, America's political comfort blanket. He's out there not campaigning on the most inspirational platform ever: 'I’m not Trump, and that’s enough, right?' His message is crystal clear: 'Let’s not rock the boat, folks. War is great, it's like the national pastime but with more bombs. My boy Hunter? Off-limits. And you common folks, stop whining about the economy. Haven’t you seen the stock market? It's doing fantastic! That's got to count for something, right?'

Santastic Science

Title: An Analytical Examination of Santa Claus: A Dimension-Hopping Yuletide Quantum Crusader

Abstract: The global population, estimated at approximately 8 billion people, includes a significant number of children, the exact figures of which are subject to variance based on source reliability and the elusive definition of "children" in contexts such as festive celebrations and military engagements.

This article undertakes the challenging task of estimating the number of children who partake in Christmas festivities, taking into account the complex interplay of demographics, cultural practices, and religious affiliations worldwide.

Introduction: As Christmas transcends religious boundaries and evolves into a multicultural celebration, quantifying the demographic of children actively participating in the holiday becomes a formidable challenge. This analysis, focusing on the subset of Christian-culture children aged 14 and under, approximates their number at 500,000,000. Further extrapolation leads to the revelation that Santa Claus, the icon responsible for delivering presents on December 25th, must visit an astonishing 22 million homes per hour, each housing an average of 2 children.

Discussion: Navigating this vast network of households and children necessitates a cognitive feat comparable to calculating the gravitational pull of a black hole while multitasking in a festive setting. Santa's mental prowess, akin to a supercomputer fueled by eggnog and Christmas spirit, manages to maintain a mental catalog of a billion dreams, a task rivalling the complexity of a festive centrifuge in action.

Contrary to popular belief in the heartwarming myth of carrot-chomping Rudolph, the reindeer are, in fact, quantum physics aficionados with antlers. Their noses, not aglow with holiday cheer, pulsate with subatomic chronitons, effectively bending time like a pretzel at a physics convention. Santa's sleigh, dismissed by some as a mere vehicle for gift delivery, is revealed to be a time-warping, gift-dropping, turbocharged marvel, skillfully surfing the space-time continuum.

Conclusion: In conclusion, Santa Claus emerges not as a mere symbol of holiday merriment, but as a multidisciplinary expert—a physicist, a mathematician, a dimension-hopping sugar plum fairy. He embodies the spirit of a Christmas Chaos Theorist, a Yuletide Quantum Crusader, providing empirical proof that, much like Christmas spirit, science can achieve the seemingly impossible, one chimney at a time.

Electrifying Mojo, Guardian of the Mothership.

The Electrifying Mojo is so smooth, he could make an alien forget about probing and just want to dance!

The Electrifying Mojo, the DJ who can make Martians boogie and Saturn's rings swing!

The Electrifying Mojo, the radio wizard who could turn a dull late night commute into a neon-lit disco extravaganza!

The Electrifying Mojo, he put the electric ‘shock' in 'shock jock' and the 'funk' in 'funky fresh.

In the vastness of the cosmos, where viba rhythm waned and universal imbalance threatened to spread like cosmic acne, one man-child stood against the darkness. His name? The Electrifying Mojo.

With his trusty turntables and interstellar beats, Mojo embarked on a journey to the planet Earth, ready to wage a battle against the nefarious warp factor. It was Warp Wars, baby! And on that fateful April 1st, at 10 pm, the mothership descended upon the airwaves of WGPR-Where God's Power Radiates, like a funky spaceship of hope.

The Landing of the Mothership, a spectacle of otherworldly sounds, marked Mojo's arrival upon the summit of the Penobscot building, an iconic sentinel in the Detroit skyline. From there, he beckoned the city's mayor, Coleman Young, to join him in an ethereal dialogue transmitted through the radio waves. Mayor Young's voice echoed as if from a distant planet, declaring his commitment to the beauty and well-being of the city.

Amidst the clashes and beats, the battle raged on. But fear not, for Mojo's music was no ordinary sound. It was a cosmic symphony that restored harmony to the planet, brought back the viba rhythm to the galaxy, and gave peace of mind to the man-child.

From another time, from another galaxy, from another solar system, The Electrifying Mojo emerged, armed with a mission to keep the airwaves grooving. So, fellow Earthlings, there's no need to change stations or fumble with those ancient 8 track tapes. Mojo's got your back. Let the intergalactic funk flow through you and dance like there's no tomorrow.

vacant

Meditation? That's just sitting around doing nothing... ...

Oh wait, that's my regular day. I'm already a mindfulness expert!

Writer's Block Aid

They say that history is written by the winners. And I used to believe that, until about seven years ago. That's when things started to get...weird. Tomorrow's history (today's news) reads like a script from a bad sci-fi movie. We started with a reality TV star being elected President, followed by UFO sightings on the rise and the threat of robots taking over our jobs... then the world!

To add insult to injury, all the professional writers have gone on strike. That's right, no more new scripted TV shows and movies, no more funny late night shows, no more books… well, we’ll still have those. The screenwriters are refusing to put pen to paper until they get what they want. And what do they want, you might ask? Well, it's the same thing that all of us want: a fair shake and a decent wage. Plus not being replaced by robots.

But what does this mean for the rest of us? It means that history is at even greater risk of losing the human touch. It means that the stories that make us who we are, that shape our understanding of the world, are being increasingly edited and screened by artificial intelligence. Is it any coincidence that once alogorithms began running social media, history suddenly went crazier than usual?

Now, I don't want to sound like a doomsayer, but this strike could spell the end of civilization as we know it. Without writers, how will we know what happened before us? How will we learn from our mistakes? How will we pass on our knowledge to future generations? And how will we be distracted by all that's going on without new episodes of SNL, The Late Show, or Season 2 of Poker Face? In summary, come back professional writers! Historical reality needs you! Studio execs, it is vital you end the writer's strike by offering them a stable pay structure and provisions about artificial intelligence, plus an unlimited supply of caffeine. They have a lot of catching up to do.

I Have Another Conversation With Chatbot

Happy Towel Day

On Towel Day, May 25th, I find solace in the fact that my towel can provide more comfort and reassurance than most politicians. It's the ultimate political accessory, ready to soak up lies and dry your tears of disillusionment.

Blogger Wanted

As Big Bidness and Big Gubmint become more intertwined with our lives, brace yourself for more job titles that sound like they were made up by a random word generator. Who wouldn't want to be a 'Chief Happiness Officer'?