Zika Tourism: The Hopeful Side of a Plague

Written by Harry Klondike

Saturday, 26 March 2016

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Gibsonton Fl: There is a well known but little discussed community of unemployed, self proclaimed "freaks" who've eked out a parcel of land in Gibsonton Florida. Men with scales, women with beards, "children" born during the Carter administration standing at less than 3ft can all be found here... of course the lobster claw clan is so ubiquitous they hardly draw a glance.

This displaced hodgepodge of bio-diversity run amok is an aging one. Age really isn't their problem though, it's political correctness. A force which brought the scourge of early retirement bound with the burden of loathsome repetitious boredom. A whole community laid waste at the unforgiving hand of good intentions. As I stand on the wet gravel of this humid trailer park, a flimsy door to one of the domiciles swings open. The aluminum step, reinforced with a wooden slab creaks as an enormous barefoot woman waddles out. She stands about 5' tall and has jet black ratted hair causing her pallored face to have the phantasmal visage of an apparition which could vanish into vapor with a gust of the Florida wind. As she turns to waddle about 20 yards in the direction of (an apparent) general store, I call out for her attention.

Getting a full view of this woman looking me head on I was struck at the cocksure protrusion of her ample gut; was it drooping down toward the earth; or was the earth reaching up to touch the sallow plaque on this proud paunch of gelatinous grease? Either way, I introduced myself. She told me her story of how in the 1980's she traveled all over- from Hawaii to Puerto Rico. Now her days were spent in Internet chat rooms and playing solitaire on the computer. "I was known as Buxom Bertha- that was before I had my titties removed cuz of the cancer. My real name is Rhoda Lightfeather. I can tell you your fortune- I inherited that gift from the Indians. [ed. note: her appearance makes it highly unlikely she has any Native American heritage]

After declining her offer I ask about the rumors of women in the community purposely getting pregnant and traveling to areas where the Zika virus is rampant. She not only confirmed the rumor but offered to show me the infirmary. I walked into a small 20'x20' storage shed with an A-frame metal roof and a musty A/C window unit blowing tepid air from the back wall.

There in the setting sunlight I could see a crib with three infants, all with microcephaly cooing without a care in the world. "This is our big investment" Rhoda told me- "if Trump don't get the vote we're screwed though. He come here and told us himself that if he gets White House he'll make sure this crap about us not having a place at the local carnivals and state fairs will end. We're preparing for the future. Them some cute pinheads ain't they?"

As we walked back to my car she lit a cigarette and I asked, "what if Clinton becomes president?" She snorts and hocks some pink yellow tinged phlegm on the gravel and says- "well if Hillary gets the White House then we're in the shit house." Then she waxed philosophical- "I've always been a democrat, but a democrat votin' for Trump is freaky as hell- I know... but then gettin' back to our freakish roots is what'll hopefully get us back in business."

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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