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As Your Vice President, the Question Isn’t Whether We’ll All Die of Coronavirus, but Where We’ll Go When We Do

Our nation is facing the great task of slowing the spread of coronavirus, and many Americans are frightened. Why, I spoke to a man this morning who asked me, “Mike, is this what’s gonna kill us? Are we all going to die?”

“Mr. President,” I responded. “The question is not ‘Will coronavirus kill us all?’ but ‘Where will we go when it does?”

He coughed, then smiled. For he knew the answer was Heaven.

Glorious, Christian Heaven.

In these times of uncertainty, the American people must find the courage to cast off their short-sighted terrors of the flesh and prepare for our ascent to New Jerusalem.


Millions will die, oh yes. Mainly those we have come to call ‘Nonna’ and ‘Pop-Pop’. But fussing over the countless grandparents this pandemic will destroy only serves to distract us from doing all we can to join them in the Eternal Kingdom that awaits those who accept Christ as Lord, and carry every pregnancy to term, if applicable.

This morning, I read a troubling report from the CDC claiming that over half of Americans will contract the virus, outpacing our supply of hospital beds by a multiple of twenty. How tragic, my brothers and sisters, to think that even in these times of crisis we allow ourselves to be consumed with lust for such earthly comforts as beds — feathery, soft and mortal — and for what? To lounge in luxury, when unto our knees we should fall in communion with the Lord to whom we shall, coughing, return?

Yes, the hospital beds will fill, and nurses given more patients than incubators will enter into a game of respiratory Russian roulette, chaining one soul to Earth with heaven-preventing ventilators while mercifully allowing the fiery chariot of COVID-19 to ferry the others to Salvation.

The beds will fill, but the everlasting Cot of God will endure, with room for us all, presuming you have abstained from homo-abomination and remained in your God-given gender.

In these troubling times, where the mainstream media would rather you cleanse your hands than your soul, you must turn your thoughts away from flesh that rots and blood which sours. If you find yourself restless, dedicate what surely are the last hours of your weary existence to helping your priest set up Zoom so he may administer your last rites remotely.

Men and women of faith, fear not the hour when coronavirus drains the oxygen from your blood and suffocates you from within. Rejoice! Croak to the Heavens “Hallelujah” with your final, dying wheeze!

Have faith knowing as long as you have embodied Christ’s love by refusing to sell cakes to gays, to God you shall return, delivered by coronavirus, grinning, blue-lipped, from ear to ear.

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