UPPER RESPIRATORY TRACT—Mr. Rhinovirus sat bored on a table. It sat there for a billion years until Johnny’s mother came along and said, “Johnny, wear your coat. It’s cold outside.” Johnny said “No.” Johnny and his mother got into a vicious fight that involved empty threats on one side and wasted tears on the other. Mr. Rhinovirus sat patiently, listening. Patient…listening.
At long last, Mom chilled out and made for Johnny some good ol’ chicken soup, which she put on the aforementioned table. “Drink, dear,” she said. Johnny obediently finished his drink. He made his mother real proud of him when he put on his puffy, baby blue coat. “Now, you be a good boy,” said Mom. “Stay at home and keep warm, will you?”
“Good boy,” said Mom.
“Fuck yeah, you’re a good boy,” said Mr. Rhinovirus.
As Johnny’s mother grasped the near-empty bowl of soup, Mr. Rhinovirus clung onto her hand. Then Mom hugged Johnny. The rhinovirus got onto Johnny’s puffy coat. “Fuck yeah, don’t go outside, don’t go outside, don’t go outside, I’ll freeze my balls off if you do,” said Mr. Rhinovirus. Johnny stayed inside. “Good boy,” said Mr. Rhinovirus.
After two hours (or a thousand years in virus-time), Johnny finally touched Mr. Rhinovirus and picked a nose-hole, and the rhinovirus had a helluva time working his way through Johnny’s hairy left nose-hole. He lived in there and gave birth to a thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand, goddamn million, billion, gazillion babies. They lived happily ever after until they died a trillion virus-years later.