Marvin Marsh pulls up to the City Wok doors in his motorized electric chair and bangs on the door.

Mr. Kim unlocks the door and peaks around before replying, "You forgot teh seecret knohk."

"Fuck your secret knock!"

"I like'a you sponk. Sir, eef you'r'a wahnting foohd, unfortunately teh shitty has'a shut all resaurants down," he winks an eye with that last three words.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, I'll eat some of your shitty food."

"Vehree goohd, just'a sneak on right ein," he steps aside and let Marvin in and then quickly shuts and locks it, again looking around suspiciously.

Marvin stops at a table and looks around.

"Oll wight, you juhst'a have ay seet ahnd I'll go whip up some appetizers. Kenny - when you are a done in the bathroom, you have customers. And'a wash'a your hahnds thees time!"

Mr. Kim walks away and leaves Marvin alone. Marvin looks around.

"Huh. What a shit hole. I could probably die just from breathing in this air," he pauses, "Hey - there's a idea," he then start taking in long breaths.

We hear a flush, then a sink running and then the men's room door opens and Kenny emerges.

"Ut-oh,' Kenny halts in his tracks and starts to back up slowly, hoping Marvin didn't spot him.

"Oh, Kenny! It's me - Marvin Marsh. Remember me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, come here and give me a big old hug. Maybe a peck on the cheek, too."

"Aaahhh..."

"What? You think I got old-people cooties? Or are you prejudice against anybody you think looks old enough to qualify for a senior citizen's discount."

Mr. Kim comes walking out.

"Ohwa'kay, here's some'a breahdsteeks curtouhsee of Chef Mic' and a glass ov wahder."

"Your employee over there won't take my order."

"Wraht? Keenee, you geht'a overe here thees instance and service thees old man!"

"Arg," Kenny sighs annoyedly and walks up; he keeps six feet away.

"Keenee, I'll goh fire up theengz and wait for teh ohrder," Mr. Kim walks back to the kitchen.

"Hummm, you got any pizza?"

"No."

"Any chicken?"

"No."

"No Goddamn chicken? Well, do you at least have any hamburgers?"

"No."

"Well, that's shit; no wonder nobody eats here. Ah, how about this thing here," he points at the menu, "The ... ow do you pronounce this?"

Kenny starts to walk over but stops a mere foot away.

"Ugt-ah. Nice try, Mr. Marsh."

"Damnit."

"It's all foreign food and completely un-pronounceable, sir."

"Ew, well, I don't know if I want any of th-ah ha! You'll have t bring the food to me, which means you'll have to get close. Ah huh. Just bring me something not moving or with tentacles. And a Sprite."

Kenny sighs heavily.

.

The Marsh family enters a good-sized Dollar General knock-off store, with all but Shelly, not wearing a mask.

"Remember," says Randy, "if you find toilet paper to lick & load: lick it so others won't want to touch it, then load it into your pants. Cough some too and say you're not feeling well."

"You turds can go on with me; until I'm out of here, I don't know you weirdos," Shelly then splits off.

An ugly fat lady in a face mask squints her eyes and hangs her mouth open in disgust upon seeing them not wearing face masks.

"Ignore the fat ugly lady, Stan, honey," he then gawks back at her.

"I see water," Stan says aloud, "but it's a small flavored bottle."

"What flavor?" Randy asks.

"Blueberry."

"Yuk - skip it."

Another fat lady in a mask gawks, this time commenting in a cynical tone.

"Wuuuhuuu viiiruuusss."

"Very good, lady, you can speak English," Randy says back with heavy sarcasm, followed by, "Now, can you say 'treadmill' you fat old broad?"

"Humph!"

They turn onto another isle and start scanning the shelves.

"I see toilet paper!" Stan exclaims.

"Lick it!" Randy proclaims loudly.

Sharon looks at it, "Oh, honey, it's that cheap stuff your fingers break through while you're wiping."

"Oh, man; we'll only get two real uses out of the role," Randy comments.

"And it'll probably clog the toilet," Sharon adds.

"That's just a chance we'll have to take," Randy comments. "Stand fast, family."

They proceed further into the store. On another isle are two skinny ladies with short hair and glasses; ugly and wearing masks. They both snear at the three of them.

"Ugh. Look at those inconsiderate rednecks," says one of them.

"Yeah," says the second, who then points at them and shouts at them repeatedly, "Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame! Shame!"

The other lady joins her and starts chanting "Shame!" with her. Randy becomes increasingly furious and turns red. After several seconds of ignoring then, he finally explodes.

"FUCK YOU, MASK NAZIS! You're both obviously way passed the age to know better than to treat people like that in public, especially with our children with us! It's not like we're the fucking Hitler family! Fucking mask Nazis!"

He heards his family around and back the other way.

"Wow ... Randy," Sharon says.

"Son, that's exactly how I don't want you to act when you grow up. Unless, of course, you come across the new Hitler in Wal-Mart or something."

Sharon whispers to Randy, "Let's put Stan to bed early tonight, if you catch my drift..."

"OH. Oh, Sharon you naughty mink..."

"Dad, I found a copy of the New York Times."

"Lick it! That's toilet paper!"

.

Eric waddles downstairs, adjusting his white lab coat.

"Oh, Eric honey bun," says Liane; she shakes.

"Mom, have you seen the red-colored ink pen? I got two blacks and a blue clipped to my lab coat pocket here, but I want a red one, too; more pens on my lab coat makes me look more scientific."

"It's in the coffee table drawer where you left it after writing your angry letter to KFC over missing one wing, honey."

"Ah, that's right; never did hear back. They'll pay ... gonna need to buy some chilli..."

"Eric, fluff muffin, we need to talk."

"Mom, can it wait? I got a two-week press conference to give and important guests to speak to."

"No, Eric, I'm afraid not," she shakes some more.

"Ugh, fine mom; make it quick," Eric hesitates by the front door.

"Well, honey, you know how you shut down all the restaurants and so forth?"

"Right. Somebody had to end the tyranny of lemonade stands," Eric replies.

"Ah huh, but my little sugar dumpling, you know how mommy has certain uncontrollable urges and has to go out sometimes and have a little nip nip."

"That is an ... interesting way to describe it," Eric comments.

"If mommy doesn't get her little nip nip regularly, mommy can get very sick."

"Why don't you just go to the liquor store?"

"Oh, Eric! Mommy isn't an alcoholic, I just nip nip."

"What ever, mom."

"Mommy needs to be able to get out of the house and nip nip with other nippers."

"So, you want..."

"Well, chinnahoneybun, could you do mommy a solid and re-open the bars?"

Eric sighs heavily, "Fine, mother, I'll announce it at the press conference. Anything else?"

"No, baby. I'll owe you, honey."

"Oh, mom. I'll need that in writing, signed, dated, witnessed and if need be, notarized."

.

Yates and Frank sit in an un=marked unit which is parked on the side of a neighborhood street. Frank is drinking a Starbucks coffee and Yates is gazing through a pair of binoculars intently.

"Hey, Harris, this Starbuck cup says something about them wanting to have a conversation with us."

"Is it about coffee?" Yates asks.

Frank reads the cup, "No."

"Oh. Then why do we give a fuck?"

A few seconds pass.

"A-HA! That lemonade stand just sold it's first cup of lemonade! Let's roll!"

Frank puts a magnetic flashing light atop the roof and Yates starts the unit; he guns it and roars multiple houses down and screeches to a stop, burning rubber. Yates jumps out and dashes over to the little kid who is manning the stand. Yates pulls out his walkie-talkie and points it at the kid in a threatening manner.

"Freeze right there!"

The kid screams. A lady comes running out of the house.

"What are you doing?!" the mom shouts.

"Are you Mrs. Spicer?" Yates demands.

"Yes, why?"

"This lemonade stand is in violation of health department guidelines! You've had tow weeks to shut it down."

"You're serious? It's just a lemonade stand."

"OH, just a lemonade stand, huh?" he whips out his ticket book and scribbles away, "Well, this is just a fine, I mean, this is just a citation," he hands it to her and then re-holsters his walkie-talkie.

"One hundred ninety-five dollars?" she says in a stunned voice.

"That's the price his toddler pays for operating an illegally-open lemonade stand. But don't worry, it's only one-hundred and ninety-five bucks if you pay quickly. Good day, citizen," Yates says as he grabs a cup of lemonade and walks away.

.

A large crown stands outside and generally nearby the Mayor's office, all maintaining a distance of six feet between them and a large number wearing face masks. Now there is a large projection screen and speaker cabinets set up so those far off can see and hear Eric speak. Instead of just the podium, there are now two chairs behind him on each of his sides. People hush as Eric and Mayor McDaniels exit the building and walk up to the podium.

"Okay, then, I'm going to need everyone to show some respect and shut the fuck up while a scientist is talking. All right. Good afternoon. Sadly I come to you on this otherwise lovely afternoon with grim news."

"OH! Oh! Yes!" Tom exclaims, pumping a fist next to another reporter, both standing in a small white-painted circle together and not socially distanced.

"Due to the inability of residents to deny their own free will and comply with our suggested face mask and distancing ordinances, there are now over three dozen known infected M.O.R.o.N.S. and that number is sure to increase. But that is only one of multiple major announcements I will be announcing today."

"OH! Calm down, Tom, calm down," Tom says to himself.

"Because you couldn't just do what you were told, I have to show you this; officer Barbrady," Eric nods to Barbrady.

Barbrady walks up to a large black tarp that is spread out over the ground in front of the podium. Barbrady yanks away the tarp to reveal two black body bags.

"Two dead M.O.R.o.N.S. curtesy of the Wuwuwu Flu," says Eric.

"AGHHHWAHWAHWAH!" Tom exclaims, limping around lightly, "OH yeah! I'm getting a thrill up my leg! Oh, if feels so good!"

There are gasps of horror amongst the crowd, including Stan and Kyle who had walked up.

"Ah huh. If only they had followed the science. Obviously we don't want these bodies infecting anybody else like funeral home workers, so they'll be incinerated. So, to help with the science messaging and scientific brow beating, effect immediately there are two new members to my team who will be at every press conference: Doctor Fettuccine and Doctor Cesques."

An older white male with white-colored hair and glasses walks out, followed by an older white woman who is wearing multiple scarves: three or four around her neck, some around the waist and other places. They stand at his sides.

"I'll let them introduce themselves."

"Excelsior, citizens, I am Doctor Anthony Fettuccine, scientist. I'm a career bureaucrat and look forward to telling you what to do," he moves away from the microphone.

"Hi, I'm Fran Cesques. I'm a doctor, tehehe. I've gone to, like, fancy expensive multi-year universities and what not. I hope I can correct any misconceptions you all probably have. May science bless you. Tehehe," she brushes back a scarf end which has come loose, back over her shoulder.

Fettuccine looks over at her and comments, "Why are you laughing?"

"Okay then. I'll step aside and let them take questions," says Eric.

Eric moves aside and Fettuccine steps back over to the mic'.

"So, questions?"

"Tom, channel four news. Would you say this Wuwuwu Flu has the potential to be very deadly?"

"Well, according to the science ... yes."

Tom grabs his leg, "Oh! Oh, the thrill feels so good!"

Jimbo raises a hand, "Yes, I have questions."

"Go ahead," says Fettuccine.

"How much longer will this go on? People can't afford to shut their businesses indefinitely; small business owners, contrary to moron beliefs on the internet, don't have secret large stashes of money to survive off of. In just one month some folk here have lost their life savings and others are on the verge. I mean, the cure, they say, can't be worse than the illness itself."

Fettuccine answers, "The illness is death. What is worse than death?"

"Committing suicide because everything you worked your life for is lost? People commit suicide because they can't pay their bills."

"But the illness may be my death," Fettuccine adds.

"Wouldn't that be a shame..." Jimbo says in a quiet voice.

"-as opposed to your death. You said they said thee cure is worse than the illness; the illness is death - how can the cure be worse than the illness if thee illness is potential death?"

"People die in car accidents every year; should the cure be to get rid of cars to avoid potential death? What if the economy failing-"

"Worse tan death?" Dr. Fettuccine cuts Jimbo off, "So, economic hardship, yes, very bad; not death. Emotional stress from being locked in a house, yes, very bad - not death. Ahhh, ummm, domestic violence on the increase, very bad - not death."

"Wow, that's cold," Stan comments.

"They can't wait to make money, they're out of money," says Jimbo.

"They've waited a month; they can't wait a few more days?" Dr. Fettuccine asks in a slightly mocking tone.

"They're not asking for the world or are being unreasonable - they just want to go to work," says Jimbo.

"You want to go to work? Go take a job as an essential worker. Do it tomorrow."

Jimbo looks at Ned, "Ned, I got a feeling some serious ass kicking is in our future."

Fran steps to the mic', "Any questions for me?"

Silence.

"No questions?"

More silence.

"None about my scarves?"

Eric shoves her away from the podium, "So, any further questions?"

Stan raises a hand.

"Mask-less Stan Marsh," Eric points.

"What jobs are essential?"

"Good question, Stan. The following jobs are deemed essential: South Park government offices, trash pick up, sewage, mail delivery, cleaning services, our jobs, grocery stores, bars digging and re-filling holes; and food delivery, like ice cream trucks."

"So ... food delivery and grocery stores are essential, but not restaurants? I don't get it," says Stan.

"That's why we're scientists and you're not, citizen Stan," Eric comments back.

Stan speaks up again, "We can go to a store full of people, breath the same air, sit on the same toilets, and buy food that's been touched repeatedly, breathed on, and even possibly sneezed on, but we can't eat at restaurants that have to pass Health Department tests and F.D.A. regulations like sanitation to even be open on a regular day? I'm confused."

"We know, citizen Stan," Eric, Fettuccine and Fran all nod their heads in agreement.

"Stan, this is an epidemic; I think we should have faith in those seasoned scientists," his eye twitches shut briefly.

"What ever happened t 'trust but verify'?" Stan asks at Kyle.

"No further questions at this time. In order to help flatten the curse, effective immediately all businesses not named as essential - see the City Hall website for a full listing - are mandated shut. Oh, and of course bars can now re-open; at twenty-five percent capacity. We'll meet for another press conference in two weeks to check on the curse flattening."

There is immediate loud nervous panicked chatter and frightened cries; "We can't survive two more weeks" a woman is heard crying in the crowd.

"And," Eric's voice booms over the speaks cabinets, "to help contain the spread of M.O.R.o.N.S., effective immediately a new task force named Defend, Identify and Eradicate Just the Entities Within our Society is hereby established. To head the D.I.E.J.E.W.S. task force, local teacher Klaus Krautklinger has been nominated and approved by City Hall."

Klaus slams his black NAZI replica boots together and gives the NAZI salute, "Das boot!"

"And finally, I have one last major announcement to make: We have identified patient zero."

People mutter i shock and look at Kyle. One lady points at him in shock and spouts out incoherent gibberish. People move further away from Kyle, including Stan - who had been standing next to him.

"But you're not even wearing a mask," Kyle says to Stan.

"I know, but..." Stan trails off.

Kyle then notices Jesus slowly moving away as well, "You too, Jesus?"

Jesus replies back through a face mask, "I already died once; I'm not going to die again."

Kyle looks out ahead in shock, "Shit."