Researchers operating in laboratories, schools, elderly care facilities, kitchens, family rooms, and lonely one-bedroom apartments overlooking subdued and muffled cities, are reporting something unexpected: a new strain of grit and resilience appearing in billions of people as they present two upraised middle fingers to a withering year that is insisting on ending in a howl.
“Nine out of ten respondents that we’ve interviewed say that Covid-19 can and should go fuck itself, and that if what it’ll take to stomp this virus is their not speaking to or seeing another human being for 14 years while the world slowly folds itself into a burrito of neglect and silence, then so fucking be it,” said Dr. Percy Veir-Anse, lead researcher for the Institute Of Digging Deep.
“And the other 10% said same for them.”
The news of the appearance of a new strain of stoicism comes as a surprise to many, as global resiliency levels had been expected to drop to unprecedented levels this year after everything sucked nonstop for pretty much all of it.
“But yet here we are,” says Dr. Veir-Anse, speaking from his office deep beneath our collective resolve. “Fragile creatures capable of surprising feats of strength. Somewhat unwitting, largely unwilling, but nevertheless unbending characters in a seminal moment of our species’ tenacious occupation on this whirling rock.”
Reached for comment, millions of people said they didn’t know what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but they aren’t giving up either.
“Sure my resolutions for this past year were to live pandemic-free, have a ton of enjoyable social interactions, preferably only go home to occasionally sleep and change clothes, maybe a few nice vacations somewhere, and to not worry that everyone I know is under enormous pressure and living in varying degrees of fear,” said a man in New York City, out walking his mental health along the banks of the Hudson River.
“And clearly it’s been the opposite of that. But I tell you what,” and here the man paused to remove a large mitten, revealing a single-finger salute which he presented in widening circles to the sullen afternoon, unnaturally quiet Hudson River, and relentless challenges beyond, as a driving snow whipped against his half-masked face.
“I’m not anywhere near done. Merry fucking Christmas Covid, you fucking piece of shit. And a happy New Year to everyone out there fighting.”