The Modelo Virus (Movid-69)

a yummy introduction

Well hey there, reader. Nice to meet ya! I'm the author/narrator in some parts of this story.

I honestly haven't seriously written anything in years, so this is gonna be pretty bad. But hey, I have a wild imagination.

I'm going to start adding memes or other things every chapter. Stay tuned for a new one soon 😬

Do you know how hard it is to type with long nails? Sis is struggling out here.

Anyway, it is currently July, 2020. Almost everyone here on Earth is scared for their lives because somebody decided to eat bat soup one day.

(I'm joking. But also not joking)

There's a highly contagious virus going around that will most likely kill you if you have pre-existing health problems, or if you're just old as fuck.

It's called the Modelo Virus. Or MOVID-69.

So basically half of the world's population is going to get wiped out someday, and we all know it. Unless of course we find a cure before then. But realistically, our lives are going to be like this for a couple years. People who disagree are just too optimistic and we should let Darwinism take care of them.

(JOKING AGAIN)

I joke too much.

Each day is getting less and less interesting. I wake up. And lay in bed. For like an hour. It's not like I have anything important to do.

I haven't worked in months. I forget how many. I think the last time I worked was in March. So almost 4 months. Jesus Christ.

I've completely forgotten how to do my job. I forget my login number for the register's system. I forget how much the niku-yasai teishoku costs. WITHOUT tax.

A niku yasai teishoku is basically a Japanese lunch set with mostly stir fried vegetables in it. Very good way to pretend to be healthy.

After wallowing in bed for way too long, I get up and grab my glasses, wiping the lenses clean so I can actually see out of them. They're covered in scratches, but still useable. I need to get new ones soon, remind me later?

I cut my hair short recently. It's slightly longer than my shoulders now, and also quite curly because of the length. If I brushed it out, it'd be a whole mess. The beautiful golden ends are gone for good. It's now just a short, curly chocolate brown wave of frizz.

The wooden floors of my room are always cold in the morning. I hop around on my toes until I reach my tsinelas.

That means sandals. Slides. Chanclas. It's all the same thing. Pinay pride.

I've had them for over a year now so they make a squishy/squeak sound when I walk in them. They remind me of the way my dad's would squeak when I lived with my parents. You could hear him coming from a mile away when he would wear his. Which was actually like, all the time. He lived in them.

Hearing that squeak would mean, hide your GameBoy. Hide your slidey phone that you both loved because of it's practicality, but hated because everyone else had iPhones. It meant stop what your doing because a demon is approaching your bedroom door, waiting to send you to the gates of hell.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. I don't have daddy issues, just a complicated relationship with my dad. But honestly, who doesn't nowadays? Oh, you don't?? Be fucking thankful then.

Having supportive parents is a blessing not a lot of people have. I'm pretty sure when my dad found out I was going to an art related high school, he realized I was going to be the disappointment of the family.