Balancing kids, household distractions, TV, and the ever-present anxiety that fills us all with despair every morning has made it very difficult for many to productively work from home. Well, life for telecommuters has gotten a little bit harder this week now that Grammy winner John Legend has downloaded Zoom and begun crashing conference calls with home concert performances.

“It was so strange,” said Vanessa Reyler, head of human relations for Pipestart Inc., an auto parts distributor based in Elkhart, Indiana. “There were about 6 of us on Zoom discussing the need to immediately lay off about half of our salesforce and all of a sudden John Legend is on our screens singing All of Me. He sounded great, but it was a little much.”

“‘Zoombombing‘, the act of crashing a video conference, has become rampant over the last few weeks,” explained UCLA media professor Heinrich Jabory over a Zoom interview with the Avocado. “Conference crashers tend to be trolls and perverts, but since the quarantine, we’re seeing more and more Grammy-nominated singer-songwriters take over work calls with impromptu performances.” I asked Professor Jabory if there were ways a business could protect against unwanted intruders, but was interrupted when Dave Matthews crashed the interview to begin a 16-minute acoustic version of Dancing Nancies. “I’m sorry, I can’t listen to this guy again,” apologized Professor Jabory as he left the conference, leaving just me to awkwardly listen to Dave Matthews until he finally finished the song.

The Avocado attempted to reach out to John Legend through Twitter, but our messages went unanswered. Being quite clever, I decided to start a Zoom conference with members of our staff under the auspices of having to let them go and, sure enough, John Legend showed up.

“It’s such an honor to be able to sing for you all,” he said unprompted over the cries of Janice, our copyeditor who believed she was being let go, before beginning an understated cover of John Lennon’s Imagine.

“I love John Lennon,” said Janice, to which John Legend misheard and thanked the still crying septuagenarian.

“Um, excuse me, excuse me! John!” I called out. “Can you stop singing for a minute?”

John Legend looked confused. He had never been stopped in the middle of a performance before. “What’s wrong? Do you not like this song? Do you want me to play an original instead?” he asked before starting into Ordinary People.

“No! I’m just wondering what are you doing in here? This is a work conference about firing Janice,” I said, to which Janice started to wail again. “Why are you singing in here?”

John’s brows furrowed in deep thought. “I guess I just felt that this was a way I could spread a little joy throughout the world,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. I’ll go.”

I watched a single tear fall from John Legend’s eyes, and lots more from Janice who was streaming herself from her grandson’s iPad. At that moment I felt a great sadness for John Legend whom I made feel bad for trying to share his art for the world during this difficult time.

“John,” I called out. “I’m sorry. I think you’re great, are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I hope so,” he said as he left his piano to rejoined Chrissy Tiegen and his children in the east wing’s home theater.

“So, what about my severance?” sniffled Janice.

“What, oh, you’re not fired,” I said and explained that the meeting was just a ruse to lure John Legend on cam.

“But why did you have to make me think I was getting fired? I have a heart condition, you know!” Janice said, angrily. I thought about it for a moment and didn’t have a great answer, but luckily Dave Matthews crashed the video conference causing Janice to flee.

“Why, hello again!” Dave Matthews greeted before going into a 35-minute version of Don’t Drink The Water.

Researchers at the University of Southernmost Florida’s School of Medicine and Pool Repair announced this morning that all of the participants in a clinical trial testing the efficacy of injecting bleach to cure Coronavirus have died. “This is a setback, for sure, but overall we think the results are inconclusive,” said Dr. Samuel Gnash of the 36 dead participants. 

The results came as an unexpected shock to Dr. Gnash, who has a degree from Harvard Medical School he received through a Don Draper stole-a-dead-man’s-identity incident. “Who would have thought drinking bleach would kill so many people?” Dr. Gnash asked, to which I pointed to the large warning label on bottles of bleach warning users that drinking it will kill them. “Oh…shit,” said Dr. Gnash before asking me whether I had any professional degrees or anyone that would go looking for me in the event I was murdered and my identity was stolen. 

The study was initiated following comments made by President Trump that the government would look into whether injecting disinfectants could be used to cure Coronavirus. Of the 36 dead participants, all of whom had previously tested positive for Coronavirus, 18 were injected with bleach while the remaining control group was given a placebo injection of sugar-water and Lysol. When asked about the ethical and legal implications of having killed so many people through bad fucking science Dr. Gnash explained that the participants knew and signed waivers about the risks of the trial beforehand and were also all very poor so it’s not that big a deal. 

When asked to comment on the results of the clinical trial, President Trump noted he was “just joking” when he said people should inject themselves with bleach before adding “although it also, to be honest, shows that if you drink bleach you can’t die of the Coronavirus so technically I was also right all along although the fake news media would never admit that grab them by the pussy.”

Editor’s Real Note That Is Not Satire Or Fake And Is The Only Part Of This Article That Should Be Taken Seriously: Don’t drink bleach.

Nick Offerman does not “believe” in refunds, a fact I learned shortly after handing him an $8,000 check for what was advertised as a “practical acting class” that turned out to be a course on canoe building. Known primarily for his role as Ron Swanson on Parks and Recreation, what most people don’t realize is that Nick is also an accomplished woodworker and once showed his penis in an episode of Dead Wood. “This is my shop,” he said proudly as he walked me around the space and described its tools and the mechanics of its complex dust collection system that he designed himself. “We’re going to be thinking a lot about dust as we build this canoe together.” I was confused.

“I’m sorry, did you say we are going to be building a canoe? I thought this was an acting class.”

“Son, there isn’t much you can’t learn about life by building a canoe,” he told me before getting back to a surprisingly long conversation about dust and letting me know about his strict no refund philosophy. “A transaction shouldn’t linger. It’s effete,” he said before getting back to dust management which he believes is essential.

“How will building a canoe help me develop practical acting skills?” I asked, to which the Dead Wood penis actor told me that finding success in Hollywood was unlikely given my height and face and that learning a craft such as canoe building would allow me to earn an honest living while my more grandiose dreams fail. “What could be more practical advice for an actor with your build and hairline than that?”

I wasn’t convinced and had no use for a canoe, but I had already paid and didn’t have much else going on in my life, so for the next 8-weeks I spent every evening in Nick’s workshop honing the skills I would need to become a great thespian and intermediate wood craftsmen.

“The first question one must ask when building a canoe is what type of wood to use,” Nick told me during our first lesson. In thinking about the question, I felt I understood how acting and woodworking complimented each other and figured Nick was laying the framework for an eventual Karate Kid style revelation where the incremental skills I develop through woodworking come together into a full repertoire of the talents necessary to make it in Hollywood.

“So, picking out the right wood is sort of like deciding on the right part to take as an actor?” I asked, but was told not to read too much into what he was saying.

“No. The best wood to use for a canoe is red cedar. And the best part for you to take at this point in your acting career is anything you are offered, even if they ask you to show your penis. It’s only after you have developed your craft that you can experiment with mahogany and other hardwoods or can turn down roles that require an uncomfortable amount of nudity. Remember, you’re desperate, and red cedar is a desperate wood for desperate people.”

During our first week together I learned the basics of canoe building and that I shouldn’t ask Nick Offerman about his personal or professional life while in his shop. “A woodshop is not a place for casual conversation,” he told me before pivoting into an explanation on the differences between a jointer and a planer. “A jointer is used to flatten the face of a piece of wood and square up one edge and a planer is used to make the second face flat and parallel to the first,” he’d tell me over and over but I still didn’t understand the difference.

“What’s not to understand?” Nick would yell, letting me know that he was disappointed in my progress and that normally such incompetence in a woodshop would be punished by requiring me to sweep the dust from the floor, but that since his dust collection system was so efficient and there was nothing to sweep I should just stand in the corner as he demonstrates the proper way to shape the canoe’s inner stem. “Just go hand me my spokeshave,” he told me but I didn’t know what that was. “And you expect to make it as an actor?” he scoffed. 

Over the next several weeks I tried to make myself useful and for the most part, stayed out of Nick’s way as he silently measured out and cut the planks for the canoe. The only bright spot during this period was when Nick’s wife, Megan Mullally would come into the shop on occasion. I had read that Megan had discovered Bill Hader and, being impressed by his impressions, recommended him to Lorne Michaels for Saturday Night Live. Since I didn’t feel like Nick’s lessons would lead me to succeed as an actor, I decided to greet Megan in a variety of accents (cockney, racist Indian, John Malkovich) to demonstrate that I was also ready for Saturday Night Live and an introduction to Lorne. But she would just politely smiled at me before leaving. “I know what you’re doing and it won’t work,” Nick finally told me after I told Megan to “Kiss My Grits” in my best southern accent. I fucking hate woodworking.

Nick was on edge during our last week together and feeling stressed by what would be an intensive two-days of laminating the wood for the boat’s hull. I was in charge of managing and attaching the staples and clamps. As I worked through the evening securing the glued wood into its frame Nick finally paid me a compliment. 

“That’s a nice amount of pressure you got there,” he said of my clamp work. “When you’re in a woodshop you’re going to sometimes want to tighten the clamp as much as possible, but you shouldn’t because it could damage the face of the wood. Just let the glue do the work and be patient,” he said.

“Thanks.” It was the first nice thing he said to me in weeks.

“The same is true when going out on an audition. You’re going to want to give the reading your all, but sometimes the best reading requires a little less. It’s more important to give an even performance and let the words do the work,” he said as he scraped away the glue squeeze.

“Holy shit, it’s happening. He’s relating acting to canoe building. He’s Miyagi and I’m LaRusso,” I thought to myself, fully prepared to discover all of the fine acting skills I had subconsciously learned over the last six weeks, but it never came. Our last week together mostly involved the two of us silently planing and sanding the canoe and applying several coats of varnish to the piece. On our last day together we installed the canoe’s seat and yoke and built a pair of paddles.

“Well, I think this is a fine canoe. You should be proud,” Nick told me as we admired the boat we built.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, horrified that I called him Dad, but to be honest a bit surprised I hadn’t done so sooner. “I’m sorry–” I said, but he told me not to worry about it. “It happens in a woodshop.”

As I packed up my things and prepared to leave Nick’s shop for the last time I felt a level of self-satisfaction that I had never experienced before. I know I wouldn’t be able to build a canoe of this quality on my own, but was happy I could now appreciate the energy and skill that goes into building something from the ground up. I thanked Nick for the experience and shook his hand.

“I hope you feel like you learned something,” he said. I told him that I did and that while the exact relationship between canoe building and comedic acting felt somewhat attenuated and that I believed his advertisement could have been less misleading, that I felt I had gotten my money’s worth.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Nick said. “You know, acting is just like any skill. You need to take it seriously if you want to do it professionally. Are you sure you’re ready to dedicate yourself to it?” he asked. I told him I was.

“Good. Well, I think I know of a part for you, if you want it.” It was happening, I couldn’t believe it. “Yeah, of course, I’ll take anything,” I told him, eager to hear about the role. “I’m red cedar.”

“I’m glad to hear that, son,” said Nick. “Because the part does require you to show an awful lot of your penis.”  

Nick Offerman’s Woodshop is located in Los Angeles. Acting classes are available to aspiring woodworkers who are comfortable with gratuitous on-camera nudity.

Come and listen to my story about a man named Jed
A middle-class guy, who always kept his family fed,
And then one day he was putting in a pool
to add value to him home, but then he struck crude…

Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea. Which trades at NEGATIVE 35 a gallon.

Shit.

Well the next thing you know ol’ Jed has lost his home,
Because his land was making oil and its value couldn’t hold
And as every gallon bubbled it’s way up from under ground
Ol Jed became scared debt collectors would becomin round…

His home, that is. Which was upside down on its mortgage. He was overly leveraged. He would never financially recover from this.

So Jed freaked out and left town in a jiff,
He left his neighbors and their friends, left his wife and his kids,
They all went a-lookin for ol Jed but before too long,
They stopped looking and went on as if he was never born.

Fuck that guy. His wife remarried. A black guy, not that that’s relevant.

So Jed changed his name to Tim and moved to ol’ Key West.
And lives with an alcoholic that has tattoos on her chest,
And when he thinks of his life and how it became so foiled,
He knows he’d still be happy if he hadn’t struck oil.

He’s thinking about killin’ himself. Things have gotten real dark. He sees no hope.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

In Rona’s wake, the Arnez family of Orange County is struggling just like the rest of the world. In just a month, Zachary and Abby Arnez’s 401(k) portfolio is down 30% and the mostly working class tenents in their Van Nuys investment property have lost their jobs and likely won’t be able to pay rent on April 1.

“This is all really inconvenient,” said Zachary Arnez, an insurance litigator  who has been working from home.  “On top of everything, because I make several hundred thousand dollars a year I don’t even qualify for stimulus money.”  

“Once again, the Federal Governemnt leaves the upper-middle-upper class people like myself out to dry,” complained Mr. Arnez. “But instead of complaining about things like those liberals in Congress, I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps and call my colleague Brett  who is a corporate tax lawyer and had him incorporate my family as a regional airline. Now we’re getting $4.6 million in government subsidies which we will use for food, shelter, and to pick up several more distressed properties when the housing market finishes collapsing.” 

We asked Mr. Arnez how he could just call himself an airline all of a sudden. “I’m an airline, you can check the records,” he told us shortly after applying for the million in government funds. We asked him if he were really an airline then where did he fly and where are his planes. “We have no planes or flights scheduled,” he said, reasoning “that’s why this bailout is so important for us.”

The Avocado tried to speak with Zachary’s coleague, Brett Wilkinson, himself a recently Panamanian chartered cruise vessel receiving over 2.5 million in government bailout money, but he refused to sit down with us without a retainer. He did tell us, however, that because he is now technically flagged in Panama, he was in the process of applying for several grants set up for small Hispanic businesses.   

Author’s Note: Shortly after turning in this article I was fired from this job without severance. Thankfully, I make less than $75,000 a year and am eligible for a one-time payment of $1,200. My rent is $2,400 a month.

Author’s Second Note: On advice of counsel I have incorporated as the Kennedy Center for The Arts in order to recive $25,000 in federal funds earmarked for it in the stimulus package.     

Citing park closures, Disney announced it would be terminating over 30,000 workers in Southern California and stop paying 100,000 employees worldwide. “This is a-real unfortunate event for us, gosh,” said former and I believe also current-CEO Bob Iger. “We at Disney are a family and want to do everything we can shy of paying them to make sure our employees are taken care of during this time of crisis.” 

As part of the furlough package, Disney will be continuing to provide health coverage as well as some “fringe” benefits to help take their employees minds off of their complete loss of income. 

“We think of our cast members as a family and will be giving all of the terminated workers a free 3-month trial to Disney+,” said Iger before leaving to stare deeply into a bathroom mirror for a few minutes wondering how things went so bad for him so fast. “This is all China’s fault,” Iger said to himself before quieting because he remembered the Chinese government monitors everything he says and controls Disney’s long-term profitability. “But it is the Chinese government’s fault,” he thought because he doesn’t know that they have developed spyware capable of reading minds yet.   

“This is terrible! Disney+ hasn’t like even updated its content since it launched,” said Amanda Canter, a recently laid-off Disney cast member who dressed as Snow White for minimum wage. “Well, they just added the Pixar movie Onward,” I reminded her over a Zoom interview. 

“Man, no one wants to watch Onward!” she said from her Anaheim studio apartment. “Doesn’t Disney also own Hulu? Can’t we at least get a Hulu membership too?” she said. I thought she had a point and sent Bob Iger an invitation to join our conversation, but he rejected it, responding to my email that Zoom is controlled by the Chinese government. He then immediately replied again saying “I wasn’t suggesting that the great and benevolent Chinese government who all in the United States are in awe of their strength and compassion cannot be trusted. It’s just I’m very busy and can’t join the Zoom.” 

The Overheard LA Instagram account announced today that it would suspend operations amid the current national shortage of public conversations. “It hasn’t been this dead in L.A. since Beyonce played Coachella,” quipped a young man, later identified as Overheard LA‘s founder, while walking his dog. “I’m afraid Overheard LA is about to be the Insta-equivalent of skinny-jeans; over for now, but sure to make a comeback.”

As news of Overheard‘s struggles spread, the mood among Overheard LA‘s many fans was one of somber dejection. “This is the most upsetting news I have ever received, and I just found out my pilot is not getting picked up to series,” I heard a twenty-three-year-old in a sundress and fedora say as she picked up a takeout order from Mozza. “Overheard LA was how I coped with the state of the world. That and lots and lots of wine,” she said into her earbuds before not tipping the server. “I got to text my therapist and see if she has another Zoom appointment tomorrow,” added the inconsiderate woman as she came well within six feet of me.

As I walked back to my apartment from Mozza I could hear my girlfriend on the phone with her sister through the open window. “I’m so bored in this apartment with him all day it’s like I’m in a Terrance Malick movie,” she said before adding, “I miss being able to miss him, you know? I told him to pick up pizza just so I could get a moment alone. Oh, I think he’s here, okay, I’ll call you after I tell him.”

Shit. I know things have been tough these last couple weeks, but is she planning on breaking up with me?

“Being dumped during a quarantine is basically her taking a front-page ad in Variety that I have a shit personality. Why couldn’t she just have saved me the embarrassment by cheating on me instead?” I said to myself out loud.

“Hey, that’s funny! Like something you’d read on Overheard LA,” said a neighbor walking a French bulldog by my apartment.

“Yeah, well my life is falling apart,” I said. “And stay at six feet away from me, I don’t know what would be worse, getting dumped or catching Corona.”

“That’s another one! I’m gonna send that to Overheard,” he said. “Overheard LA is shutting down,” I told him as I walked into the apartment. “Well, at least we still have Quibi, said no one ever!” he said to himself, purposefully loud enough for me to hear. “Nice one,” I lied.

When I walked into the apartment, Vanessa was waiting for me. “Hey, we need to talk,” she said. I hadn’t even put the pizza down.

“You want to break up with me because I’m so dull that life with me is like a Terrance Malick movie?” I said.

“Where did you get that from?” she asked.

“I overheard you on the phone with your sister. Am I right?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, it’s not you…it’s me,” she said.

“I suppose you want me to move out then?” I asked. She nodded.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight. This weekend, maybe?”

“Fine. You owe me $14 for the pizza,” I told her. She agreed but I felt petty requesting the Venmo. As the two of us grabbed our slices we sat on our couch as we have done every night for the last month. But it was different this time. “Want to watch a movie?” she asked.

“Sure, whatever you want,” I said. As I sat there watching her scroll through Netflix and then Hulu and then Amazon for 40 minutes I couldn’t help think of how long we would have lasted if we hadn’t been quarantined together and how the daily need to go to work or to meet up with friends acts as a pressure valve on a relationship. Maybe we would have broken up eventually anyway. Who knows?”

“So, how was your day,” she asked as she skipped through dozens of Korean crime dramas on Netflix.

“It was okay. Overheard LA is shutting down,” I told her, just making conversation and avoiding any real discussion about how I was feeling.

“Oh no! That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day,” she said as she finally put on Hocus Pocus for some reason. Years later, that comment is what still stings the most about the whole thing.”


Overheard LA is not really over. But my relationship with Vanessa is.

A historical article from Jerusalem, 33 AD that is at least as legitimate as anything the Scientologists or Mormons believe.  

“Jesus Christ!” said Jesus Christ upon learning that a stay at home order would require him to remain undead in a tomb until at least May 15. The Order comes from Roman prefect Pontius Pilot following reports of an outbreak of leprosy that went uncured for some strange reason.

“What am I supposed to do in here?” said Jesus, an all-knowing vessel of God who already found out the endings of Killing Eve, McMillions, and all other stories both real and fictional. “It’s okay, I just need to trust in God, who is my father and also me, and that he/I will give me the comfort I need to get through this harrowing time,” said Jesus as he sat in tranquility for 45 seconds before he grew bored again and started pacing around his tomb.

“This is the worst thing to happen to anyone ever,” Jesus wept. The Avocado prayed at Jesus a question asking if he was implying that the waiting around was worse than his being betrayed, tortured, and crucified three days earlier. “It’s not worse,” he answered in our prayers, “it’s just that being murdered and crucified was at least a little exciting. This waiting around is just so monotonous,” adding “I guess that Tom Petty song will be right all along once it is written, ‘The Waiting Is The Hardest Part.'”

In this weekly series, The Avocado gives advice and technical support to its aging millennial audience. Poor things, they’ve been told they’re young for so long that they are having a hard time realizing they’re old. 

So you want to join Tiktok? Great! And you’re in your 30’s? You used to have a Good Charlotte poster on your wall? In high school? Jesus, okay, here’s how you do it. And you’re serious about this? Okay, here’s how to do it. 

Step 1: Maybe don’t? 

Sweetheart, you know deep down this isn’t for you, right? Do you really want to learn choreographed dances? To what end? You’ll never be as popular as Charli D’Amelio. You’ve never heard of him? Well, he has 47 million followers on TikTok. And he is also a girl. And also gender is a construct, and you would know all of those things if you were young enough to join TikTok, which you are not.    

How can I put this in terms you’ll understand? Okay, remember when you were 14 and your mom took you to Warped Tour to see Good Charlotte and before the show you waited for some old punk band from the 80s like The Descendents to finish and while you were texting on your Sidekick you watched as all of these 40-year-old dudes ran around in a mosh pit holding onto their glasses so they wouldn’t fall off and how after the show they all tried to talk to you about the Dead Kennedys or whatever? Remember that? That’s you on TikTok…

I’m sorry. It happened. It’s like when your mom first joined Facebook and kept tagging you in inspirational posts and on scanned pictures of you as a kid that had the wrong rotation and a white outline around it from the scan. Remember how annoying that was? 

That’s how your little cousin is going to feel about you joining TikTok and tagging her in whatever appropriated dance is trending to a song you’ve never heard of before, or worse, to a song you used to like unironically when you were young and the culture catered to you. 

Okay, but we’re in the middle of a quarantine and you don’t have anything else you can do, so you still want to know how to join TikTok? Okay…

Step 2: Have you considered reading a book?

Look at all the books you have in your apartment that you have never even read! Wuthering Heights! That’s probably good. So is Jane Eyre and Freakonomics and Infinite Jest and all of those Malcolm Gladwell books you keep buying for some reason. Why not read one of them? You’ll feel better about yourself and can post age-appropriate photos of dog-eared books next to a glass of red wine that your mom will like on Facebook.

You could even listen to an audiobook and tell people you spent your quarantine catching up on reading. It’s cheating, but we’ll allow it if you promise not to join Tiktok.

You hate reading and want to join TikTok? Uch, FINE!

Step 3But you’ve still not seen The Wire. 

It’s The Wire! Idris Alba and Michael B Jordan before they were stars. You are potentially passing up an opportunity to be one of those people who have seen The Wire…

Think about it. You’re at a party sometime in the future, when we have parties again, and someone mentions they were born in Baltimore. 

“Oh, have you seen The Wire?” you’ll ask, excitedly. 

“I have,” they’ll say, having been asked that question every day of their fucking life. 

“I love The Wire!” you’ll say, pausing for a moment so the group can admire you before adding, “The second season by the Wharf wasn’t so great, but overall it’s the greatest show ever made.”

Still no? You really want to join TikTok?

Step 4: Can’t you just do an Instagram Live video instead?

Instagram live is basically TikTok for 30-year-olds in that its consists of a deluge of poor quality video content, but has the added benefit that no one will likely watch you live and the evidence of your failed entertainment attempts will be deleted after 24-hours.

Yeah? We got a deal? Great! Okay, follow us on Instagram at @TheAvocadoLA. We’re going live tonight at 7!

Despite recently removing the independent watchdog for Coronavirus funds and appointing his unqualified son-in-law Jared Kushner as Coronavirus Guru, President Trump continues to enjoy overwhelming support among Republicans who are over the age of 65, diabetic, asthmatic, anyone named Karen, and those with underlying health conditions. 

According to a new poll from Liberty University, amazingly still open for business during the pandemic, the president’s supporters overwhelmingly approve of his plan to let them all die so that he can open up the economy to improve his reelection chances.

“We’ve never seen numbers quite like this,” said Dr. Vivan Prat with Liberty University. “Frankly, we’ve never had the opportunity to take the country’s temperat–Err… I mean, gauge support of individuals in government so clearly and purposely trying to destroy them.”

The new poll found that those likely to die because of President Trump’s plan to stop the coronavirus pandemic by giving the virus a pre-approved small business loan were 30% more likely to support it. A whopping 67% said Trump’s plutocratic solutions are what this country needs right now. They were also most likely to retroactively strip the South Korean film “Parasite” of the Oscar and give it to the Netflix docuseries “Tiger King.”

“That Tiger King never gave a single person coronavirus,” explained Karen Billingsley, 78, of Newport Beach during a special emergency meeting of the Flatearthers Alliance of Irvine-Laguna [FAIL]. “They should put that Parasite in jail.”

The meeting took place this past Sunday in a secret room at an Orange County Dave & Buster’s in direct response to the poll. Billingsley told The Avocado that the meeting was held specifically to ensure “no one gets out of line and blames Trump.” When asked whether the meeting’s attendees followed the CDC’s recommended face mask and six-foot social distancing guidelines, Billingsley became irate and threatened to smash several avocados in effigy before using them to make a delicious “cuck-a-mole.”

After calming down and popping a double dose of her blood pressure medication, Billingsley explained: “That poll was too soft and we expect more from the Trump faithful…He’s doing a hell of a job making sure my cruise to the edge of the earth is still on for Summer Solstice. Provided I live through this, I mean.”

Editor’s Note: She did not. 

By Jerry Garcia