Op-ed: Don’t Fucking Touch Me
Beautiful african woman feeling disgusted with tongue out, outdoor
That’s right, I said it, don’t you dare fucking touch me or anyone else. That’s it. It’s a pretty simple concept to understand.
As the Coronavirus spreads, many pundits on TV are asking “Is this the end of the handshake?” and positioning the elbow bump and footshake as alternatives. Here’s a thought: lets not shake hands or elbow bump or foot shake or come anywhere close to touching one another.
Even if you don’t have the Coronavirus or some other disease, you can’t tell that you haven’t picked your nose at least once today. Even if your snot won’t infest my upper-respiratory system with a life-ending virus, I still don’t want them anywhere near me.
So don’t fucking touch me with them, alright?
Besides, we’ve never needed handshakes to begin with. I can assure you that you won’t be able to tell anything about the content of my character nor my intelligence nor my personality by how tightly I squeeze your grubby little hand. In fact, I’m pretty sure the modern version of the head nod was supposed to eliminate the need for handshakes, along with a lot of other human interaction, to begin with, so why can’t we fully acknowledge its assistance?
How about this: if you want to learn about me, just fucking talk to me, from a respectable distance. Actually, don’t talk to me because you’ll be breathing in my direction. Just go away and leave me alone for the rest of this pandemic and my life.
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