A Pfizer Dream
Stuck in a Pfizer commercial? Spit out the sedatives they gave you and scream.
I had a dream that I woke up in a Pfizer commercial--and everything around me was about promoting Pfizer products.
The academics, wearing clown costumes, were praising Pfizer.
And so were the doctors.
The journalists, like children, were gleefully competing with each other in Pfizer sweepstakes—and when they won prizes for the most progressive number of kisses applied to the smelly Pfizer buttocks, they ran to take selfies with their little trophy syringes. And they laughed like drugged babies.
The patients who tried to object to taking Pfizer products were taken aside, swiftly sedated—and injected.
And the party continued.
Because the set of the Pfizer commercial was a little stinky due to the presence of the giant Pfizer buttocks, designated crew members without faces, dressed as hangmen, were buzzing around with bottles of antidepressant-laced sanitizer and spraying it onto every surface and into the air.
There was a booth titled, “Clinical Trials” where the employees were mostly playing with water pistols.
There was a stage with a Pfizer sponsor logo where actors dressed as politicians were giving speeches—but it was hard to hear what they were saying, the only phrase that stood out was “safe and effective.”
There was a Fauci character running around and looking for attention. But everyone was busy.
And then of course there was a luxurious booth for wealthy Pfizer investors—but it was empty. The rumor on the set was that they didn’t like to mingle with mere mortals and preferred to send their boys while they stayed at their oceanfront villas.
It all felt like a Groundhog Day: the high-pitched jingle, the sweepstakes, the syringes. The shooting (of the commercial and of the Pfizer product) went for hours and hours. (Luckily, there were yummy doughnuts.)
But then one patient who was sedated and then injected woke up, started howling and squirming—and maybe it was the timing, but suddenly everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention.
The crew ran up with their sanitizer and tried to disperse the crowd but the patient just kept howling and squirming—and suddenly one of the crew members screamed that he couldn’t take it. Then another. And another.
And all of a sudden, the commercial set was in chaos. The patients were screaming and howling and asking for water and cures. The crew members were throwing away their hangman outfits and crying. Even the employees at the “Clinical Trial” booths set aside their water pistols and started paying attention!
The last ones to join the upheaval were the journos. In the beginning, they just kept caressing their trophy syringes and waiting for instructions. But then one of them screamed, “I am a human being! To hell with instructions!” And the invisible ice melted, and journos joined the howling.
And then for hours, everyone was crying and howling, crying helplessly and desperately about all the hurt, and abuse, and deception, crying for the lost family members and the lost years spent on nonsense. And then one person hugged another, and, still sobbing, said, “Hell, we have a lot to figure out but at least we are no longer lying.” And then somebody emitted a giggle, and everyone joined the laughter.
It was magic: intimate conversations about the things that no one talked about for years, loving touch, trust, release, heartfelt songs, and no more pretending.
What about the actors dressed as politicians? Um, they kept giving speeches all throughout and never stopped talking. They were paid per hour.
As the emotion subsided a little, leaving everyone pure and uplifted, we remembered about the investors who had paid for the commercial in the first place. We don’t know what they will come up with--but we are together now. Together, we’ll figure it out.
(Thank you, I very much depend on your support)
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