MIAMI, FL – New York City Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is perfectly fine with vaccination passports, mask mandates and violent crime of her home city New York City, but this past holiday, she wanted more. So AOC packed her bags with an Amish-looking guy in tow and headed for the miserable sunshine ridden far-right enclave of Florida, run by the evil right-wing shaman, Ron DeSantis.
After dodging pure evil at the start of her trip by blending in as local sipping drinks with her mask at a Miami outdoor cafe, things were about to get worse for young Sandy.
Things were going fine for the Congresswoman. She nearly passed for a local. She didn’t wear her face mask in public, she was enjoying the fresh warm Florida weather and by the second day, she even stopped showing local businesses her vaccination passport. Further, AOC even stopped telling local business owners, “It’s ok for me to come in, I’m fully vaccinated and you can see my vaccine ID card.”
That was after most of them simply rolled their eyes at her as she babbled on about free healthcare, green new something-or-others and Ted Cruz.
At some point in her vacation, she decided to go all-in local and attended an LBGTQ drag queen party at the local gay bar. AOC danced the night away, happy she no longer had to mix the drinks, she switched between Prosecco, Grey Goose and a bottle of Smoking Loon.
AOC’s Florida incursion into the red zone was going great. Then it happened.
She caught the red virus. You know, the one that only filthy, unvaccinated, Trump-loving Appalachian backwoods peasants get. It was a mystery. For two years, AOC boasted about her vaccines and booster shots. She bragged about how safe she lived life despite the constant threats of imminent murder by the likes of Ted Cruz, Trump Supporters and Lauren Boebert. She even survived an onslaught of 12 million horny Republicans who wanted to date her recently.
As the virus multiplied in her body, she wrapped herself on the couch and was given her last rites. Her nose was red from wiping the constant sniffles. She was tired and weak. Worse, the death cough was settling in as she stared the grim reaper in the eye.
“I realized my time was up. I was going to die from this deadly red state disease,” she said. “I told my Abuela to be my executor and prepare for the worse. She picked out a coffin and a nice plot overlooking a green meadow down near San Juan. The end was near.”
Then it happened. She nearly succumbed to the virus. Flashbacks of sexually depraved men banging on her congressional office door raced through her mind. Her heart rate increased. She had ordered her Amish looking boyfriend to arrange for hospice care.
“I have walked through valley of the shadow of death and came out on the other side,” AOC said.
It all happened after her sixth day laying on the couch with a pile of tissues, Dayquil and orange juice when he boyfriend told her the grim reality.
“Sandy, come on. You’ve been lying on the couch for 5 days now. You haven even so much as sneezed or sniffled in two days and your fever broke the first night,” he told her. “You need to get up and get on with things.”
“I was nearly dead,” she snapped. “Why are you being so critical? If we weren’t already dating, I would think you just want to date me or something.”
With that, he flung open the blinds, pulled the blanket from AOC and told her to please, take a shower. And like that, the ordeal was over. AOC survived yet another face-to-face encounter with death.
