At its core the Chinese pox has been a non-event, a poor starter in the field, tumbling to last in the golden slipper virus stakes. It trails the field so very badly that one would almost feel compelled to urge it to stop, to desist from continuing to embarrass itself. Its measly mortality rates are surely the stuff of epic limericks, hardly suited to the giddy heights of an outbreak of smallpox or the black death.
But in its poor performance hides hints of some could have beens. It coulda’ been a contender. And had it got its infectious act together, why, the results might have been out of this world.
Consider that initially the obese were in grave danger to succumbing to its lethal charms. If you were overweight, you were in trouble. No pleas of fat acceptance were likely to counter the very real problem that emerged from devoting your life to being a fat and unhealthy pile of lard when the virus came a knockin’. Most hilarious for me were the pathetic cries of woe from the American black community that this was a racist virus as it targeted their over represented demographic in lard arses and mighty bottoms, seemingly unaware that the contagion had already demonstrated a liking for Chinese males.