(Thanks, China. I’ve memorized all 10 seasons of ‘Friends’)
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Did you see? Did you notice? America has really changed a lot lately, in case you haven’t left your home for a month, which is not as funny a line as it used to be.

Apparently, somewhere in China, somebody tried to soul-kiss a bat while taking its temperature, and suddenly the world is facing a “pandemic,” which is a forty-dollar word for “Trump’s fault.”

Even if you personally don’t smell like an amorous flying mammal, you’ve at least seen some of the side-effects. To sum up: There’s a lot of stupid out there.

Might as well start with China, since I’m such a racist that I would dare call a virus that came from China, a Chinese virus. That would be like having the nerve to point out that the MERS virus, which stands for Middle East Respiratory Syndrome, came from the Middle East.

Okay, bad example.

This latest uninvited global guest has been labeled COVID-19, which I understand is an acronym for “Corona Virus Disease 19,” meaning we already had 18, as if the thing were as persistent as Die Hard sequels. Of course, faced with flagging sales and horrible PR, the Belgian company that makes Corona cerveza has temporarily changed the beer’s name to MERS Lite.

The world is rightfully confused about how this whole uber-flu incident started, because China has been a bit loose with their facts. For a while, they claimed there were no infectious cases, then they admitted to a few, then a few thousand, then suddenly, overnight, that number went up by 50%, as if somebody had suddenly opened a clown car full of costumed coughing people with big feet.

One rumor involves something called a “wet market,” a term that stubbornly refuses to let me conjure up even a single pleasant image. The least nauseous thing I can imagine is some public venue where Southern Baptists refuse to recognize each other, like a liquor store, or midget mud-wrestling contest.

But the Wuhan wet market turns out to be a place where shoppers can sample, buy, and consume things like fresh bat, a decision I would definitely include in my personal SLiM list (a SLiM is a Survival Limiting Maneuver, like parasailing, or getting between Jerrold Nadler and his lunch).

Another rumor seems to point to sloppy management of murderous-pandemic-spewing-mammal-borne-virus stuff at a Wuhan research lab, but, hey! Who doesn’t? (The Wuhan facility is a place where they regularly make globally-disruptive things, like bat meat tacos, and Apple AirPods.)

But however it happened over there, now it’s over here, and so we’re all stuck at home, every day, having to watch Andrew Cuomo insist, every day, that he’s not running for President. And thanks to all the new (hopefully) temporary “social distancing” rules, we get news headlines like this:

POLICE CONFRONT NUDIST SUNBATHERS OVER NOT WEARING FACE MASKS AMID CORONAVIRUS OUTBREAK

It’s one of those images that, once seen, you can’t ever un-see, like a photo of Winston Churchill at a wet market. Here’s another:

MARYLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT REMINDS RESIDENTS TO PUT PANTS ON WHEN CHECKING MAILBOX

I can only hope this doesn’t include forgetful Marylanders who have Post Office Boxes.

Currently, by federal fiat, most small businesses are not allowed to open for business, unless they’re deemed “essential,” like groceries, pharmacies, and the people who provide Nancy Pelosi with designer ice cream. One particularly hard-hit sector has been caterers, unless they cater pizza delivery, or pallets of toilet paper. Did you realize that Americans, annually, spend $74 billion on weddings? I had no idea. Of course, we spend an average of $15,000 on each divorce, but let’s try to keep this upbeat, shall we?

Fortunately, there are some promising signs of a return to the old new normal. For example, the Governor of Texas has issued an executive order to reopen their State. So Texas is first. And that means, of course … tacos. Finally. I intend to drive to Texas immediately, if you want to come along. But bring a lunch and a catheter. To get to Texas from South Carolina, we’ll have to drive through Louisiana, where there are many snakes. In other words, no pit stops allowed. Anybody that knows me knows my issues with snakes. If I was married, and a snake cornered me and demanded I hand over my wife, the woman is toast.

But even us single guys have been affected by this new abnormal. Earlier this week, I cancelled my next physical doctor’s appointment and scheduled my first-ever virtual doctor’s appointment. Here’s how that’s supposed to work: I’m told I should log in to the virtual doctor’s website, load the virtual visit page, and then wait in a virtual waiting room, where I suppose I’ll read a virtual magazine back-issue while I sit on virtual butcher paper in my virtual underwear. Wonder if they’ll accept a virtual check…

Then, a few days ago, after a stupid Single Guy Decision … okay, another stupid Single Guy Decision … I found myself wearing a mask in my own house while talking to an equally-masked plumber who was lying on his back under my kitchen sink, removing a monstrous fried rice clog from the drain. After wiping up the mess and performing an impressive, IRS-sized wallet extraction, he looked at me as if I were a very slow child and said, “Never put rice down the drain. It expands when wet.”

Somebody should make sure the Wuhan wet market knows about that.