Skinnyjohn

 Zion Press -- Chaz straightened his tie, checked the mirror again, and went out for the press conference. This time, his mask matched his pocket square, and he was pleased to see the masks on everyone who had come to hear the pearls of wisdom drop from his unBotoxed lips. (He didn’t use Botox or go to a plastic surgeon. He didn’t!)

This whole lockdown had been so beneficial to him. Although he didn’t plan it – that would have been plain evil, and he wasn’t bad, he was just drawn that way – it worked in his favor. Parties were fighting, the mask had become a political football and he looked like a hero to most for wearing it and clamping down on those ingrates he called constituents.

He gave the bad news, shutting down the state again. Why couldn’t they just listen to him? He obviously knew best! Now he had to ground them all. No salons, no gyms, no hair dressers, no bars, no restaurants. It would hurt, he thought. People had told him, so he had at least heard the words. Good thing he had an in-house chef along with an in-house hair dresser. He had to make sure he continued looking good for the press.

After a rough press conference, he wanted nothing more than to head to Skinnyjohn’s Winery, which, fortunately, was still open.