My mom tested positive for Covid and Iām showing symptoms. My boss said I need to keep coming to work and just to wear a mask the whole time. What do?
A mask? Really? Does your boss genuinely think that a puny wee mask will suffice to both thwart Mumsy Covid and allow you to continue doing your job? Hath he not foreboding of your imminent viral kablooie?
Apparently not! We shall Educate him.
I have no idea what the hell pays your bills, so I can't make any immediate observation about what effect Covid may have on your job. But I'd imagine a profession Covid would wreck in a more hilarious way than usual is wetnursing for vampires. Well. It'd be entertaining for me. And that's the main thing. So yeah. Turns out you do that.
Your goal here is to cause your boss maximum embarrassment, humiliation, and ideally vast gloops of emasculation. You must trigger the most gigantic and humiliating Covid-based catastrophe imaginable.
Here's what you do:
- Become best mates with Jill Bearup, YouTube's resident boob-armour expert. Acquire her recommendations on the mightiest, sturdiest, and most practical tungsten-chrome nursing super-bra imaginable.
- Arrive at your work.
- Apply a conventional allegedly Covidproof mask, covering only your lower face, as per your boss's WRITTEN instructions (seriously, make goddamn sure you've got a Covid-blighted paper trail leading right right back to your boss).
- Flop out your sturdy professional waps.
- Apply Jill's tungsten-chrome super-bra to prevent your vampiric clients from chewing your nipples off.
- Watch and cackle as your first juvenile client attempts to latch on, yet their baby-fang-jabs skitter off the polished boob armour like breastplates defeating 160lb warbows.
- Laugh in their faces like you're BRIAN BLESSED after nine whiskeys. Seriously, go absolutely friggin' nuts. Hoot and holler with savage glee. Make dang sure your vampiric baby knows they're being mocked, and belittled, and denied your generous breastly brekkie.
- Persist until their nascent patience collapses and they start hissing and shrieking right back at you like Christopher Lee on methy helium. This will attract the envious attentions of your wetnursey workplace's remaining dozens of juvey Draculas. And wow. They're ravenous. They're petulant. They're salivating. And they bawl for instant dindins.
- Dozens of crabby vampire babes thus leap airborne and bombard your veteran boobs from all directions like that scene in The Matrix: Reloaded, athirst for sustenance.
- Now! This next bit is vital! Your goal is to eventually allow this vampire baby multitude to suck your Covid-gunked blood and fall hilariously ill and you'll trounce Boss, win/win/win. But should these adorable little bastards sup until sated? You'll perish. Besides, babies of most species typically prefer milk over blood. So first, you must both exhaust and provoke them:
- A thousand young fangs plummet breastward! Jill's tungsten-chrome super-bra now really comes into its own. Let the thousand fangs impotently clatter off it like a redneck merc army machine-gunning Fort Knox.
- Maintain your hilarious BLESSEDesque provocations throughout. For hours. With any luck, you'll have overwhelmed their nursing preferences, they'll have reverted to animalistic raging, and their foodie instincts will naturally devolve from milk to blood.
- Wait until your savage pack of nocturne assailants hits 99.9% exhaustion. Just as they're hitting the cusp of starvation and collapse, whip off your super-bra at long last, and let your sturdy professional boobs flop free. Allow each exhausted baby vampire exactly one Covid bloodsuck dose before they faint.
That should do the trick! Your boss's mask decree did jack shit against Covid, didn't it. Hundreds of adorable baby vampires caught the lurgee and it's all his fault and he should feel terrible. Problem solved.