As all of you know, last year, you killed my brother, Milosh, under direct orders from your boss, La Silla Sin Ojos. You then dropped his body on my doorstep. I must say, despite the immense rain that night, whoever affixed the threatening message to him used both tremendous penmanship and quality paper. After reading the letter from Ojos, I knew what needed to be done. I spent the better part of a year using my small fortune to travel the world, learn ancient fighting techniques, and generally train my body to become the perfect weapon to end your lives.
However, due to fears over contracting coronavirus, I've decided to postpone your destruction until after I've self-quarantined.
You may be asking, if you're so deadly, why are you scared of a flu-like virus? First of all, the CDC has made it explicitly clear that this isn't the flu. Second of all, unlike your dying screams, COVID-19 can actually impact my life. Sure, we can brawl, and you might get off a few gunshots or pointy weapon blows into my ripped torso, but you can't make me take off work for two weeks and have diarrhea.
I spent months learning new techniques to kill all of you. In Egypt, I trained with a reclusive master to perfect this move where I jump into the air, spin really fast, and become, like, a spinning bulletproof tornado. I think it's damaging my lungs, but that's a whole other thing. In London, an aged con artist taught me the slow hand technique, which causes opponents to blow up. It's super gross, but effective for taking hundreds of you out at once. I went to Spain, Africa, Antarctica, and Tibet. In each country I gained a skill, but didn't pick up what I needed to survive: hand sanitizer.
For months, I trained to get my body into peak physical condition, thinking of nothing but your deaths all my days and nights. Things have changed a lot since then, and now most of my time is spent worrying about whether or not I can get a proper mask or a quarantine suit that's up to regulation. I still think about all of you, but my health and safety comes first.
I imagine you're all rolling your eyes, except for Ojos. You probably figure you can train and prepare over the next few weeks to beat me. I'm happy to show you how wrong you are, just as soon as the CDC says we can have gatherings of more than fifty people again.
Instead of trying to prepare for the fight of your lives, might I recommend stocking up on snacks and essential items? You can still train and feel confident that you have enough toilet paper to last you for two weeks. Think about how much more shredded you'll get when you don't have to worry about whether or not you'll run out of vegan mac n' cheese or turkey burgers. I want to be the thing that kills you, not the pandemic.
Honestly, when I last went to visit my brother's grave to switch the flowers and spray it with hand-sanitizer, I asked myself if this was even worth it anymore. With the governor declaring a state of emergency, I fantasized about starting a new quest to become the ultimate owner of disinfecting wipes. I pictured myself happy and in love, standing with my beloved in the kitchen at sunset, counter-tops glistening cleanly in the last rays of light. Then I remembered you killed my brother, and that no amount of Bath and Body Works hand soap could change that.
I'm off to binge Pushing Daisies and Cheers, and reflect on the wisdom of Tom Hanks, but know that I'm coming for you once the state curfew has been lifted, and cases go down worldwide.