Janice Donaldson, thirty-year-old schoolteacher and Don Lemon superfan, forlornly looked out her bedroom window, wondering if the day would ever come when she could safely leave the confines of her well-Cloroxed home. "Can you imagine how it will feel one day to just be able to go to the grocery store again?" she said as she placed another delivery order for canned goods. "Even to be able to eat produce would be so nice, instead of having to quarantine these canned tomatoes in a closet before roasting out all the germs." Across the street, families were enjoying a tailgate before heading out to watch football, but Ms. Donaldson's view was obstructed by the signs she had hung warning visitors to leave packages at the end of the driveway and run. Most of her time was spent with her cat, who enjoyed her owner's clinical depression, as the cat was possessed with several demons. "I was so elated to finally get the vaccine—only to learn from our dear President that I could still die at any moment if I came across some unvaccinated imbecile," said Ms. Donaldson, clutching her Dr. Fauci pillow.

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