A Day in the Life of “Mister” Anthony Fauci, as Imagined by Marjorie Taylor Greene

“Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Ga., refused to address Dr. Anthony Fauci as ‘doctor’ and called for him to be jailed during an, at times, explosive hearing before Congress on the origins of Covid-19—as Republicans continue to demonize the federal government’s former top infectious disease expert in their probe into the government’s response to the pandemic.” — Forbes 6/3/24

The doom bell tolls, and I wake up from my vampiric slumber, ready for another day of cooperating with the global elite to take away the freedoms of ordinary, germ-ridden Americans.

For breakfast, I gulp down a vial of freshly harvested embryonic stem cells, which give me just the boost of energy I need to start the day. I may be retired, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work with the Deep State to manipulate the global population from my secret base.

I retrieve my reading glasses from the dresser and throw on my lab coat. On my shelf is the collection of medals the Deep State awarded me over the years for inventing HIV, SARS, MERS, Swine Flue, Ebola, COVID-19, and cold sores. Ah, the life of a maniacal supervillain with no moral compass or motivation for his deeds.

I check in with my double, who is en route to Georgetown University to give a lecture on medicine while pretending to be me. I’m too busy helping plot world domination to bother with such run-of-the-mill liberal brainwashing.

My personal masseuse, paid for by Barack Obama and his puppet Joe Biden, massages my fingers and wrists, which are sore from forging COVID death certificates.

I check my bank account. I’ve spent a lot of money bribing hundreds of scientists to keep my vile plans secret. I’ll need to fax another invoice to the New World Order.

I spend the next two hours banging out articles trying to debunk the scientific facts I know in my heart to be true: COVID-19 can be easily defeated by a simple injection of bleach, countertop disinfectant, garden-variety horse tranquilizer, or Alex Jones’s vitamin pills.

After lunch, it’s time to see my therapist, not because my family has received countless death threats, but because I’m going through an identity crisis. Did I invent the idea of a virus that doesn’t exist? Or did I help create a virus in a lab in China? Or did I willingly devise fake ways to combat a very real virus? I don’t know which of these I like more, or even which of these I am.

The only thing that I know is that I love controlling people. It’s why retirement hasn’t stopped me from raging biological war against America. I made my career manipulating the numbers of countless databases, with the cooperation of thousands of scientists and medical professionals, not one of which ever exposed me.

After my TeleMed session with my therapist, I meet with my tutor, who is teaching me Mandarin. My lessons have been free ever since I helped cover up that lab leak. We had to test the biological weapon we concocted somehow!

Then it’s on to my meeting with the CIA, where we plan the next pandemic. I have to make sure that it rages as much as the last one—well, the one that was totally fake, of course. But if it were real, I’d want it to rage all over everybody.

Next is a phone call with Bill Gates to discuss getting chips into the next vaccine. It’s got to be quick, because I told Putin I’d call him with tips on how to activate a virus with 5G.

It’s been a long day as a semi-retiree at the center of an invasive regime. I developed one of the most sinister biological weapons ever devised by man while at the same time fabricating the existence of that same virus.

Before going to bed, I receive a summons to Congress. I have finally been found out and will have to testify about my crimes against humanity.

Attention has once again fallen on my corruption, so I need a distraction. I give my Jewish friends a call. “We need a diversion,” I say. “Fire the space lasers.”