'Rona Retrospectives #2: The Unjabbed French Backpacker Who Stole Christmas
A glance back at peak Germ Derangement Syndrome Downunder.
If you aren’t from Western Australia, you should find this story hilarious (if you are, well, it might still be a bit raw).
Inspired by Rebekah’s recent recap of the acute gaslighting that our Downunder State’s populace was subjected to across 2021 and 2022, I thought I would dust off my ‘Rona Retrospective series: where we revisit some of the most transcendent, matrix-glitching moments of the pandemic.
To start, for those playing along at home in parts of the world that managed to avoid peak Zero ‘Rona derangement, may I introduce you to our Dear Leader, Marky Mark McGowan:
Oops, sorry:
Marky may have been a good dude at some point — by all reports he was, and might still be after an intervention — but weaponised germ theory is a hell of a drug for closet authoritarians, and Dear Leader deserves due consideration alongside Jibby Jabinda Ardern and Justin Blackface Castro Trudeau as some of the most fanatic Germ Inverters of the plandemic.
Our hostage situation peaked in late December 2021, when a SINGLE “Infectious Case” was enough to reintroduce a range of new ‘Rona restrictions — including indoor mask mandates, and a ban on large outdoor public gatherings — LITERALLY TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS:
“(The mask mandate) includes places of work, public transport, hospitals, shopping centres and all hospitality venues.
Masks do not need to be worn inside private homes - including family Christmas Day gatherings - but should be worn outside where physical distancing is not possible.
High-risk large public events - including music festivals - have been cancelled and all nightclubs will be closed during this period.”
That’s right: Dear Leader cancelled Christmas over a single case of the spicy flu. As Marky Mark explained:
“Some people probably say we’re going too far in our reaction to this, because it is one case, but the venues, he’s been to, and the length of time he has been potentially infectious means that we have to take these steps.”
Urgh, it’s still gross to reflect back on it now. Several of my friends partners had to cancel Christmas plans to front up at testing centres, as anyone who had been to any of the exposure sites, or who had any sort of flu-like symptoms, was urged to get tested immediately. Many of the biggest live music events on Perth’s summer calendar were cancelled, some with only a day’s notice, with no consultation or consideration of compromises such as reduced capacity or extra precautions.
And then the kicker:
“Dancing will not be permitted except at weddings.”
So, who was this Infectious Case? Well, our local Germ Conspiracists decided to chuck some poor young unjabbed French backpacker under the bus:
“The unvaccinated 25-year old backpacker arrived in Perth from Queensland on December 12, just one hour before the WA border restrictions were upgraded requiring arriving travellers to quarantine.”
ONE HOUR BEFORE THEY SHUT THE GATES HOO BOY THE DRAMA.
It also just so happened that Frenchy had been painting the town red in the days leading up to “testing positive”:
“Overnight on December 18-19, the backpacker visited several nightspots, including Perth Mess Hall on Francis Street, Geisha Bar, and Connections Nightclub, both on James Street.
He also visited Dan Murphy’s Joondalup on December 18, the Bloody French restaurant in Subiaco and Palace Cinema Raine Square on December 17, the Galway Hooker pub, Scarborough Sunset Markets and WA Museum Boola Bardip on December 16.”
I’m not much of a nightclubber these days, however my late teens/early 20s was a different matter entirely: including frequenting some of the establishments listed above. I even ventured on at least one occasion (memories are hazy) to the queer-orientated venue Connections — not like that; my female friends said it was the place they were least likely to get felt up by meatheads on the dance floor, and I was happy to have the number of competitors reduced.
Nonetheless, it goes without saying, the place was seedy AF. One can only imagine the type of bumping, grinding, twerking and bodily fluid exchange our unjabbbed French super-spreader backpacker had been partaking in; some would even argue that if you were going to consentingly exchange bodily fluids in public, it would be in a joint like this.
Indeed, things looked ominous a week later, as we were told the Backpacker Outbreak had spread to 16 cases: which understandably forced Dear Leader to extend the existing restrictions and bring it a fresh round for New Years for good measure.
In short: it wasn’t looking good for one of the last Zero ‘Rona holdouts. One of the most infectious and transmissible (are they the same thing? I haven’t done germ theory lingo in a while) viruses of all time was out of the bag: multiplying silently and potentially fatally in the cells of unwitting unchaste queer clubgoers; scapegoats can be made of French/gay/but mainly unjabbbed germ-infested heathen freaks; and they can finally start ramping up the 5G to make peeps sick on cue.
Ahem, I mean: yes, look, no one likes to cancel Christmas and New Years, but these are quite clearly extraordinary circumstances — the super-spreader event to end all super-spreader events — and sometimes sacrifices to the Germ Theory Gods are required.
Except… fast forward to a news report almost two weeks later — that is, the official “incubation period” for this totes real, extra spiky virus — and there is no mention in sight of the Backpacker Outbreak, only a slightly anti-climatic four new cases, all of which were safely locked up in hotel quarantine.
What we do see is the announcement by our newly anointed “Jibby Jab Commander” (I shit you not) of a brand new Digital Check-in App:
"It allows West Australians to show proof of vaccination, check-in with SafeWA at businesses and venues and access their G2G passes for interstate travel, all in one convenient place".
"(With) the ServiceWA app, you won't need to show identification with your COVID-19 digital certificate to enter businesses and venues like you would with a certificate stored in your digital wallet or hard copy."
So, what to make of it all?
Was it further proof that Australia, and in particular its bogan-infested, Western-most mining outpost (i.e. Perth), really is the Lucky Covid Country: that even the perfect super-spreader setup for The Most Infectious Virus Ever still couldn’t get the job done?
Was it — as Marky Mark would have us believe in the aftermath — a testament to the responsibleness and selflessness of the Western Australian public: to make the necessary sacrifices, even if it was giving up watching cricket with a beer on Boxing Day, required to uphold The Greater Good?
Or was the whole episode deliberately planned to traumatise the population over its most sacred holiday period, leaving them battered and bruised and on the psychological ropes before unleashing on them the one two punch of Digital ID Check-ins and Jibby Jab Mandates that would be introduced within the next month?
Perhaps the better question is: did our Unjabbed French Super-Spreader Backpacker Who Couldn’t even exist — or, was he/they just another fictitious biological entity, another creative piece of coding inserted by the matrix managers, designed to further perpetuate The Germ Simulation?