Pan-dana: 10 Steps To Cure Coron-er Virus
By Dr. Hillary Chestnut
One night, my husband Chestnut gulped down the last of his Budweiser and stopped watching a video of last year’s Nascar race at Talladega and said:
“I reckon you know more about that coron-er virus than anybody I know.”
“You think so?”
“Well,” he chewed a piece of bacon that had been stuck in his back teeth for two weeks and swallowed. “I know you know more about it than that Faoul-chee feller!”
I got to thinkin’ about that one late night and I come to a-clusion that Chestnut was right. For instant, flu shit didn’t come from no damn bat in china. No siree! It came from Spider monkees in south America. Yep. You can lookit up on Google and it’ll tell ya fact-by-fact that I’m correct. Those little buggers peel the banana rinds and wear ‘em around their necks wherever they go Poopin’. Sexin’ their partners (which is usually their mommas, kinda like my cousin Brody and his trashy family) or just playin’ golf with coconuts they find in gutters on the streets. Then those stinkin’ spider monkees wrap the bananas back up and hang ‘em back on the trees, usin’ their spit to hold the rinds together.
Yep! It’s all facts there. I Googled ‘em on the dark web.
I’ve even come up with a better name for that virus. Pan-dana!
Here’s a step by step guide on how to cure Coron-er:
Step 1: Get drunk real fast by drinkin’ Dr. Pepper (a 12 pack), Nyquil, and Bourbon.
Step 2: Fill a light bulb full of grape Kool aid and rub it all over your body. (Hint: that was a huge turn on for my husband Chestnut. The grape Kool-Aid smell set him off!)
Step 3: Avoid any George Lopez shows. Obviously because he’s from South America and cohorts with spider monkees.
Step 4: Don’t take a crap in the bathrooms of Taco Bell. Obvious reasons.
Step 5: Shoot. I can’t remember step 5. Oh, well.
Step 6: No banana daiquiris. They ain’t real fruit, but I wouldn’t take no chances.
Step 7: Eat fresh grass. Right after the lawn is mowed is the best time.
Step 8: Take Q-tips soaked in Clorox and swab yer own nose. Yep. Not only is it a home test and you ain’t got to pay nobody, it also meets up with that killer Coron-er and eats away the germs! Tested and turns out to be true!
Step 9: Do what me and Chestnut do every Friday after he gets off work at the Ciggertte outlet. Drink a 12 pack and turn up Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. Come Saturday afternoon when you wake up, you’ll find you ain’t got the Coron-er.
Step 10: Don’t eat bananas a-tall!
There you have it. By the way, I ain’t no real Doctor, they just call me that cause I cook the best Meth this side of Sunny Hills trailer park.
Bye for now!