So, Nikol now has MRSA. This means “(Something) Resistant Staphylococcus (Something).” Which is the “superbug.” The strain of ordinary bacteria that a TV news piece comes out on once every few months, that you can get in the gym, that eats away your flesh until you die and normal antibiotics can’t do anything about it. This is the sort of thing that organic farming types are warning us will happen with all sorts of bacteria because we pump our livestock full of antibiotics constantly. The germs, for whom a generation is about three minutes long, are going to out-evolve drugs so fast that we will have created virulent megagerms that we can’t kill. Now we will again be vulnerable to bacterial infection, as we were through most of history and as we still are to viral infection. If you have a virus, they can’t do shit for you.
Well, this feels like a wash to me. 1,000,000 BC-1920whateverthefuck, whenever penicillin was invented: no cure for germs. 1920’s-2012: cure for some germs. 2012- on: no cure for germs. I mean, it was nice having that little vacation I guess but really, humanity survived eons without any protection from bacteria except our immune system; if it goes back to being that way it doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
Except the MRSA is some fucking hairy shit. Especially, you know, most people who get it get it from hospitals or nursing homes. These are people who are being prodded constantly by semiliterate obese women with unsterilized needles, and their immune systems are either compromised specifically by disease or generally fucked along with the rest of them. And for them MRSA turns into fucking bubonic plague. Literally there are just giant boils erupting in Nikol’s flesh filled with bacteria-laden pus. She had to go to get them drained and they pulled out like 8 litres of fluid– love that they use the metric system– and left behind a gaping bloody cavern on each of her ass cheeks, one of which they filled with a corkscrewy length of maxipad fabric to soak up the weeping blood. And she had told me about all this, and I agreed to come over and visit her, and of course the only thing I was thinking was as long as I don’t have to touch you, leper. I love you, but, I love not having the flesh eating superbug even more.
And of course as soon as I walked in the door she was crying because her ass bandage was coming off and the blood and pus and flesh eating superbug soaked corkscrew plague tampon they’d put in was wiggling loose and could I extricate this molotov cocktail of flesh eating death from her ass and rebandage it, and you know, what are you gonna say. You have to do it. I was wearing a mask so the spray of pus and blood wouldn’t go in my mouth when I ripped off the tape, but I bet a fine mist went in my eye. The flesh eating superbug is going to rot away my eyeballs and face. Based on my knowledge of medicine there is a one hundred per cent chance of this. But I did it anyway, and I felt like an asshole for even thinking about my own safety when my friend was suffering so horribly. How could I think about my own chickenshit fear when she was the person whose ass had been turned into a David Cronenberg movie. When her bloody suppurating ass cavity might well have contained a VHS tape made of flesh or the animatronic face of James Woods.
Anyway, Nikol has the flesh eating superbug. Watch this space for whatever happens next– a fucking dinosaur is going to bust through the window and laser beam her to death or some shit.