Let’s Declare This the Summer of Play.

And 50 million liberals cried as one, their tears flooding the streets, sweeping away all before them. They don’t want a summer of play; they want a summer of hiding inside, preferably under a bed while they wear at least 10 masks, wailing about this or that while still refusing to go outdoors alone to even use a grill.

No, there can be no play while there is a yet a virus — any virus — left in the world. No sunshine shall mar their faces while there is merely a fleeting chance that a variant might take out a gramma somewhere, anywhere. And no joy, no merriment, no revelry shall there be until we achieve their longed-for complete safety.