How To Carry And Spread The Plague

How to Carry and Spread the Plague

If you're sure you want to go through with this, I'll tell you.
First, get the plague. This is simultaneously easier and more difficult
than you think.
It may require travel.
But if you're sure you want to go through with this, TRAVEL!
It's worth it.
All the best plagues are abroad.
Plagues of the body, anyway.
Try Africa.
I'm not trying to imply anything.
That jungle-ridden crapland is just a swarming cesspool of raging
badass diseases.
You can't sneeze without waking up some ancient viral infection.
You'll be crying puss in no time if you play around with enough
monkeys.
Hanta.
Ebola.
Volcano Flu.
The Mummy's Runs.
Nothing but the best in Africa.
South America's not bad.
Oceania has some nice toxins, but they're hard to spread.
And Arizona has kicked some shit around.
For some reason.
But if you're sure you want to go through with this, HEART OF THE
CONGO, BABY!
Okay, now you're starting to think, Isn't this a rat's job?
Are we no better than they?
Well, don't start thinking like that now, buddy.
You'll wind up squeezing your liver through your pores all by
yourself.
Besides, the whole point is that we're better.
We're conscious.
We don't just hang around the poor and let the rich off the hook.
When rats were in charge of it, we had to hope for one of those "Masque
of the Red Death" scenarios
where the plague personifies itself to kiss the prince good-bye.
But like Machiavelli says, a good prince takes things into his own
hands.
That was paraphrasing, I know.
But if you're sure you want to go through with this, GRAB THAT BULL BY
THE GANGLEIA!
I'm assuming that you didn't just go out and get some pussy HIV or
Hepatitis C.
Nothing that takes ten years,
Doesn't spread on contact,
And doesn't make you die in a dramatic explosion of lymphatic
fluid.
I'm assuming you felt the graphic grip of death in your brain the
second you left that monkey.
So you've only got a few days on you.
It's that old question:
If you had a few days to live, what would you do?
I'm about to tell you.
There's no time right now for that hang-gliding/robbing-a-bank
shit.
Here's a tip:
Try to contract your new internal friend as close to Sunday as
possible.
This isn't an anti-religion thing.
Straight practicality.
Attend the biggest Catholic mass you can.
If you're sure you want to go through with this, GET UP EARLY AND GO
TWO!
In Orlando there's a place called Mary, Queen of the Universe.
It's massively huge.
The building is, anyway.
Have you ever seen Fortress?
This place dominates the scenery as a giant monolith.
You might be thinking this is the kind of place to go.
Apparently not, no.
Turns out the Queen of the Universe is very selective about who she
sees.
Which is to be expected, I suppose.
It's only for parishioners and such.
The highest of the high.
Or at least employed.
Like the Playboy Mansion
Or the Yalta Conference.
Probably not the numbers you're looking for.
But scour the area.
Find a worthwhile flock.
Be sure to sing and listen quietly to the priest.
Or don't, it doesn't really matter.
But grin.
No matter what, grin.
Keep your mouth as sardonic as possible.
Or at least make it look as menacing and evil as sardonic sounds.
Sardonic I don't think actually mean anything.
The corners should point to your eyes.
Light them up.
Maniac's candles, helping give you a brighter outlook.
Not to mention creeping people out!
No one trusts a person who can't stop smiling.
And while everyone around you waits for you to pull your gun,
You just relax and breathe&;#8230;
A lot&;#8230;
Of wet heavy breath into the open conductive.
Never dropping that smile.
If you're sure you want to go through with this, SMILE!
And if you're as unfamiliar with the words as I am, you'll have to
watch for when everyone else rises.
Sluggishly pulls themselves into the aisle.
When you hear the little kiddies' stomachs growl.
The shuffling forward begins.
Soft shoe sounds on the carpet.
Under, the music of Communion.
And under that, your breath.
Working around to the nostrils of your fellow man.
But not all your power drips out your nose.
At the end of the line,
When the mass in front has moved on and the masses behind have pushed
you as far back as they can,
There'll be one or more men instructing you to kneel.
One of them will give you a wafer.
You probably see where I'm going with this.
But I'm going there anyway.
Regardless of your religious preference, you are most likely aware of
this ceremony with the wafer.
What comes next?
The cup.
Chalice of His blood.
Whatever.
Basically a fantastic vessel for your corrupted saliva.
Make sure you're not at one of the places that give you individual
shooters of Christ's hemoglobin.
You have to have an ornately decorated goblet.
Actually, they could use a coffee mug that says God Does It
Everywhere,
So long as they pass it around.
Don't waste a lot of time on the irony of killing everyone looking for
salvation.
Everyone already gets it.
Just squeeze a couple drops of venom.
It'll be plenty.
Stay after that or don't.
If you do, sit on the other side.
That'll get things going.
And if you're sure you want to go through with this, SPIT IN THE HOLY
WATER!
And shake as many hands as you can with your own clammy paws at the
reception.
That was a good start.
Now slice your finger open.
You'll need a sizeable gushy wound the rest of the day.
Keep the blood flowing.
But don't put that finger in your mouth.
You don't know where it's been.
I'm just kidding.
Is your tummy rumbling?
Never mind that your organs are floating in vomit.
It's time to eat.
Head on over to one of those big, risqu? family restaurants.
Bennigan's.
Applebee's.
T.G.I. Friday's.
One of those places that belong to people, as denoted by the
apostrophe.
Here you can enjoy a moment of reflection.
A lot of people are going to die directly from your behavior.
Think about that over an ice-cold soft drink.
That you spit in.
It might be ineffective, but it's not a loss.
And sure, you're doing a lot of damage just sitting in that crowded
establishment wit' yo' baaad self.
But go in the kitchen.
Get that bloody finger (remember the bloody finger) in some soup or
pie.
Pie would actually be best.
Think about it.
Say that you're looking for the bathroom.
But touch things.
Hell, the bathroom ain't a bad idea either.
And then go back to your table and wait for your meal.
Fried artichoke shrimp or whatever the fuck.
You probably feel like powerfully expelling your intestines just from
the smell.
But if you're sure you want to go through with this, EAT IT!
Know what'll happen?
You will expel your intestines.
Try to land it on patron.
This is more punk-love than anything else.
The whole shack will then start to heave.
In the few last days of humanity, this chain will get sued into the
ground.
A good laugh.
You could use one of those.
Right?
After all, you've had a busy day.
And you're obviously chemically depressed
Otherwise you wouldn't be killing the world, but that's not
important.
But you have a busy day.
Give yourself a hand.
But don't sit down.
You're not done.
Even though you have left a scar the size of a canyon to an ant,
Even though your face (which is now dripping off your chin) is burned
into the cell memory of the species,
Even though you have already become the greatest biological weapon,
enough to make the generals green,
You're not done.
You see, there is still a little problem.
Central Florida might die.
But it's a great big world out there.
Maybe you got some people headed out of town, but why take that
chance?
What if you get caught?
That is, what if your plague gets caught?
What if it gets isolated to a few hundred thousand and they come up
with a vaccine?
Or a cure?
Do you want to hear that on NPR while your lungs are spewing crude
oil?
You need to go somewhere where people are going somewhere.
Get yourself over to an airport.
How can they even try to sanitize these places?
Look at all the filthy traveling cattle.
I know.
You were just here when you came back from the virus delta.
It's okay.
You didn't have the bloody finger before.
Get that on the water fountains as soon as possible.
And if you're sure you want to go through with this, GET ON A
PLANE!
The most fun part of this will be the increased airport security.
Strip search.
Cavity search.
They'll touch every weapon and still let you on.
Wait by the gate close to that woman reading Danielle Steele.
Move very slowly down the gangway.
Most people are in a hurry.
Very effective.
Think about it.
The motions of the plane are going to jostle your fluid skin.
Try to freak out the stewardesses.
More impressive, try to join the Mile High Club.
Drink.
I'll bet alcohol would be greatly appreciated by your kidneys right
now.
And then you'll touch down.
And where are you now?
Another airport!
I'll give it to you.
It's over now.
Hang out by the international gates a while.
You have effectively created a no-escape scenario.
But if you're sure you want to go through with this, KEEP GOING!
The holy water bit.
Pull the restaurant bit.
The airport bit.
Combine the restaurant bit and the airport bit and screw around in a
hotel kitchen.
Don't stop.
The roses smell bad and sex ain't that great.
Not now anyway.
Your genitalia are probably covered in scales.
As long as your knees have tendons, move on.
I object to sporting events just as a style point.
Unless you plan on dying on Tyranno-Vision.
There's strip clubs, fast food restaurants, banquets, museums, science
centers, hospitals (just for the doctors), more churches, mosques,
synagogues, temples, brothels, bistros, carnivals, orchestras, cop
stations.
My last specific suggestion:
Find the tallest building you can.
Ride the elevator to the top.
Then go down, floor to floor, office by office, and "interrupt" as many
important-CEO-style board meetings as exist.
You know that's going to be a fun bunch to watch go.
The panic.
The real panic.
Shown in the media.
Not our elite.
Not our successful.
I thought they were out saving us from this sort of thing.
They don't die like you and me.
Wake-up call from the concierge.
7:30 a.m.
Time to push your meager life out your gaping, bleeding ass.
Oh, this is just so funny.
But the day is now drawing to a close.
Or the days, rather.
I doubt it was as convenient as 24 blissful hours of internal
hemorrhaging.
It probably isn't even thoughtful enough to kill you at night.
Or the evening.
Sun dropping around the Earth.
So that you could watch the cooling temperatures ice-pack your tiny
space with deep dark blue one more time.
It'll probably snag you in early afternoon.
When the ground's heat is just starting to catch up to the sun's.
Your boiling temperature has dropped to about 40 degrees.
Fahrenheit.
So now it's time to rest.
And by rest I mean die.
You don't have much of a choice about it now.
That is the sad but inescapable flaw in this plan.
You'll never know how it turns out.
The ultimate cliffhanger.
Will the human race survive?
Tune in.
Wait.
You can't.
Well, now you have your final decision to make.
Public or private?
I suggest private.
You don't want anyone calling you a victim.
The first victim.
Of this terrible affliction.
I can understand the bent appeal on seeing the faces on millions as you
whither in the street.
But martyrdom&;#8230;
It's martyrdom.
And no one will be left to praise you anyway.
Lie down.
Spend your last few hours reminiscing while you poke holes in your
flesh.
With your finger.
The bloody one.
Unless they're all bloody now.
Or do what you want.
It's just a suggestion.
A lot of folks will want to know why.
Frankly, I don't care.
I just thank you, male or female, for cultivating the fantastically
enlarged testicles required to pull this off.
But I do wonder one thing.
Does your heart explode during all this gore?
Or does it blow up?