We all found different ways to cope with quarantine — some through TV shows, others, through food. I coped by digging up dead bodies, stitching them together, and conjuring life from their deceased tissue.

Before you judge me too harshly, hear me out: Ol’ Frankie here doesn’t breathe, so there’s no risk of COVID-19 transmission. Also, I needed a hobby and a companion. Creating an abomination of nature from desiccated corpses seemed like a good way to combine those things.

But now I keep seeing these ads in magazines and getting emails. People keep telling me to “get rid of my quarantine body,” and there’s only one explanation: I’ve been found out.

My friends have been telling me it’s only a marketing tactic exploiting insecurities foisted on women by the patriarchy, but I know differently.

And I promise you, I’m trying. I’ve done everything those articles told me. The crunches, the squats, the mountain climbers, everything. Maybe if I get strong enough I can just fight Frankie off. But my quarantine body won’t leave. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to make my first attempt at creating life from death an 8-foot superhuman, because I’m screwed no matter how much I lift.

I’ve tried reasoning with my quarantine body — and his grasp of the English language is impressive considering he was given life just a few months ago. But he kept going on about how society would never accept him, and his closest friends would run him out of town if they ever came face-to-face with his horrifically disfigured form, which I think is a little melodramatic.

People don’t seem willing to accept that I’ve forever changed what it means to be human by breaking the barriers of science and basic morality, but I’m powering through.

I’m not saying I don’t understand why my quarantine body isn’t willing to let go. It’s hard for me, too — I sacrificed a lot to bring him into the world. When I first started this project, it was “You’re defiling literal corpses” this, and “Why would you even make these kinds of choices” that. My quarantine body and I have gone through some rough patches, like that time he murdered my fiancée in cold blood because I wouldn’t build him a girlfriend (sorry Elizabeth).

But ultimately, it’s experiences like those that have brought us closer together, which is why disposing of my quarantine body has been very difficult.

And also because he’s basically a pile of soggy limp corpses and he’s way too heavy for me to move.

I understand that my little foray into the dark arts might be off-putting to some, but I don’t think I deserve to be canceled over some well-intentioned grave robbery. I’ve learned a valuable lesson from this experience, and I’ve also advanced science to the point that humanity will never be able to wash the blood off its collective hands, so I think we should examine the educational effects my actions have had on the world, as opposed to the fact that I created a vengeful mega-zombie.

That being said, if anyone knows how to blow up a dead body while minimizing the smell/splashback factor, email me.



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