Friends, I have left my safe cocoon and ventured over to the dark side. What first triggered this odyssey was coming across the #FireFauci hashtag on Twitter. I decided to sit quietly in a room with comforting pillows and aroma therapy (vanilla spice), and follow this runaway train of thought to its logical conclusion.

So, OK, Trump fires Fauci, but then what comes next? Does COVID-19 then disappear, replaced by “it’s just a flu, get over it”? Following the sacking, will the rate of infection and death plummet? Will all businesses reopen and the U.S. economy come roaring back “like you’ve never seen before”? Can we get rid of these damn masks and shake hands like real men again?

I continued down the path of most resistance and bumped into dozens of protestors in Michigan, Texas and Minnesota. I wanted to meet the brave people that economic commentator Stephen Moore has compared to the “modern day Rosa Parks.”

I made my way through swastika signs, Confederate and don’t-tread-on-me flags, and pistol-packing-paunchy bros until a woman—not practicing social distancing, mind you—blocked my path while holding a sign that said “Give Me Liberty or Death.” I asked her if she was afraid that both those wishes might be granted given the packed crowd and the flying spittle. She yelled a profanity at me that sounded either like pinko commie libtard or dumb ass Democrat. I couldn’t tell which and I was afraid to ask her. I mean she was heavily armed and had a neck tattoo. Additionally, as a general rule, I try to avoid angry women.

Next, inspired by the hashtag #FloridaMoron, I drove south to the Sunshine State: specifically, the newly liberated beaches of Jacksonville. I had hoped to converse with twenty-year-old coeds in scant bikinis, but Spring Break had ended long ago and the girls were back in the Midwest in medical quarantine or attending their first AA meeting.

Instead, plodding along the surf were mostly early-retired Boomers with saggy cargo shorts, Crocs and T-shirts that said “Got Beer?” Few wore masks because, well, the salt air was filled with an atmosphere of impenetrable happiness, hope and fresh dog droppings. Besides, those masks create a disturbing tan line and with summer approaching who needs that?

On my way out of town I ran into friends of my parents who winter in Florida. They were exiting Publix with a 12 pack of Pepsi. I said, “What are you doing?! Don’t you know you are supposed to shop for two weeks of groceries and not expose yourself for just one item!?”

“But we have a dollar-off coupon and it was going to expire tomorrow,” Leo said.

OK, I thought, this actually makes sense. A dollar in these tight times has a higher value than before. I wished them well and helped them load their oxygen tanks and walkers back in their Buick.

I then continued my quest by listening to a man that has been at the forefront of the coronavirus conversation: Dr. Phil. I knew he had the goods because he is on television a lot, and anyone who Oprah loves is OK with me. I listened carefully to Dr. Phil and took copious notes when he said that, “45,000 people a year die from automobile accidents, 480,000 from cigarettes, 360,000 from swimming pools — but we don’t shut the country for that.”

Point well taken, doc. So far only around 40,000 Americans have died from COVID-19, which is just a tad under the average number of Americans that die from gun violence each year (36,383) and far below the 100,000 Americans who are simply shot and wounded each year. So, I get what Dr. Phil is saying: we don’t shut down gun stores just because some people did not duck in time.

After my road trip, I think the fog around my confused mind was finally beginning to lift. I now saw that Fauci’s science is indeed restricting America from practicing common sense and frontier individuality, the twin backbones of our democracy. All these CDC and WHO rules and regulations are precisely what the British tried to use against us back, well, whenever that was. And if someone could restrict our access to the beach, Baskin-Robbins or the early-bird special at Red Lobster, what might they restrict next? Would we be limited to buying only one assault weapon and an inadequate 500 rounds of armor-piercing bullets per day? Did I want to live in such a repressive nation? Do we want to be like Denmark?

So, this week, I will be on the front lines standing shoulder-to-shoulder, cheek-to-cheek with my new best friends as we take back America from social distancing and stay-at-home orders. I will proudly practice my First (and, hey, maybe my Second) Amendment rights as I stand up to the new world order of Fauci, Gates, 5G, nasty female journalists and ungrateful Democratic governors named Cuomo.

I hope you will join us in this incredible grass roots’ movement. You will soon discover—as I just did—that it’s pretty contagious.

Stephen J. Lyons continues to shelter in place somewhere in central Illinois.