© 2020 Samurai, all rights reserved.

Author's Note: Stay healthy. Stay safe. Wash your darn hands.

Author's Note 2: This story is on hold right now. Thanks for understanding.

Hmm Edit

The year is 2120, one hundred years after the coronavirus pandemic. Historians have uncovered three primary sources that tell what it was like during this time...

Well, kind of.

D'Artagnan GoosewranglerEdit

Day OneEdit

Food is good. Water is good. I have toilet paper for the next 40 years because I got to Costco in time. Life is good.

Day Two Edit

I have enough supplies for years upon years to come, but alas, the desire to clear the shelves of stores across the nation is overwhelming. To Walmart I go, and then Target, and then Giant! There is not a store in the land that will retain its supply of anything from Goldfish to baby wipes, not if I can help it. I don't even need baby wipes, not with all this toilet paper, but you never know! In this time, in this day and age, one must buy EVERYTHING!

Day Three Edit

I am writing this as I stand in line at Walmart, my cart full of toilet paper. It's the last of it, and I had to fight an old lady for one of the rolls. But it's mine, all mine, as it should be, and I can't wait to add these new rolls to my collection, my hoard, my stash.

I also got baby wipes! Lots of baby wipes. Ignore the crying infants in the store and their mothers and fathers that look upon me with deep, dark fury - the baby wipes are mine! All mine! I don't know what I'm going to do with them, but who cares.


Day Four Edit

I have run out of space in my garage for the baby wipes and toilet paper. I'm ordering a few storage containers from PODS, though I doubt that will be enough to store it all.

Meanwhile, the neighbors seem to be very upset, and I can't imagine why. -strokes roll of toilet paper as he lounges in a big black chair-

Day Five Edit

The neighbors appear to be outside with pitchforks. I wonder why?

Day Six Edit

The neighbors have laid siege to my home. Little do they know that their efforts are in vain — I will never surrender my toilet paper nor my baby wipes!

I hear them talking of poisoning my water supply — somehow, they’re planning to replace the water with gallons upon gallons of kale juice, and who wants to drink that? Certainly not me!

Luckily, their plan is already foiled. Turning my water supply into a kale juice supply will have no effect on me, for I bought every last bottle of water I could find. -slurp-

Day Seven Edit

Someone broke into my house and stole my water. All of it. I...I’m afraid I have to resort to drinking the kale juice now.

But who needs that much water?

Day Eight Edit

The kale water is terrible. My iron will is shattering. I may have to give the siege people what they want...

Day Nine Edit

I exited the house, my hands raised in surrender, and a cheer of victory erupted from the crowd when they saw me standing there, my face twisted in disgust from the awful kale juice.

"All right, all right," I said, my knees shaking. "Toilet paper is in the garage - help yourselves."

What choice did I have? I needed real water, and they had been making so much noise these past few days that I hadn't been able to get any sleep. Giving in to their demands was the only option.

But my hoard of toilet paper! All my baby wipes! All my paper towels! What was I going to do now that I had surrendered them? I needed those for the next 40 years! I...


I looked around at my neighbors, who had long since extinguished their torches and lowered their pitchforks. They weren't ransacking my garage - Leif Googlyeyes was handing out toilet paper and paper towels and baby wipes to everyone, and Boris Beanutbutter was helping him. And everyone was...

They were smiling.

Everyone was smiling.

They took only what they needed, graciously leaving plenty for their neighbors. There was no selfishness to be seen, and not an unkind word was uttered. They all went peacefully back to their houses, back to their families, and I had never seen anything like it. The scene at Costco had been the exact opposite - the scene at any store I'd been at had been full of ill words and selfishness. But here...but now...

"This is a time to be kind, D'Artagnan," Leif said as he was leaving. "A little kindness, a little thoughtfulness, a little graciousness...that goes a long way."

Day Ten Edit

As I sit outside in my garden, I'm thinking about what Leif said last night, and...

He's right.

It was selfish of me to hoard all of this stuff. All of this toilet paper, all of this lotion, all of these baby wipes...all of this stuff! I don't need it, at least not in this enormous of a quantity, and I shouldn't have gone to the store time and time again, looting their shelves.

This isn't the time for that.

My neighbors have taken some of my hoarded supplies, but there's still a lot left - in particular, there's a lot of lotion, and, well...

I've been thinking...

I should advertise to the neighborhood that I have lotion and am giving it away to anyone who needs it. I should do something to help out, something to make it up to everyone. Lotion will be in high demand after all that hand-washing - everyone's skin will be as dry as a desert, ready to crack like heat-scorched earth.

Yes, free lotion will do nicely.

Day Eleven Edit


I am writing this from my basement, where I hide from the mutant fish covered in poison ivy that zoomed into my garage, armed with Lysol wipes. It demanded my lotion, every last bit of it, and I fled as fast as my legs could carry me. I can only hope that it took the lotion and is gone now, because the last thing I need is a leaf monster to worry about...

Day Twelve Edit

Olive Garden - curbside pickup, of course - sounds really good right now. Beyond the food, it'll be nice to get on my motorcycle and drive somewhere because that means getting out of the house (unlike my brother-in-law, I do not drive around my house).

I will be leaving shortly, as soon as I can wrestle my motorcycle helmet out of the tentacles of the mutant squid in my basement.

Day Thirteen Edit

I have arrived at Olive Garden, but it appears to be deserted. No one's outside with my food, and the sign creaks despondently in the wind, crying like a lonely ghost. The wind stirs the leaves, and they rustle hesitantly, as though cautiously avoiding awakening some kind of monster. The air is colder too, and I can't help but shiver.

I'm just here for my pasta.

Just my pasta.




Why is this so creepy?

My spine crawls up my back as I brave the entrance, feeling unseen eyes boring into my skull. I whirl around, only to see nothing there, nothing but a few leaves scrambling across the sidewalk.

Just here for my pasta.

Just here for m

The handwriting trails off the page in a chaotic scribble of ink. D'Artagnan Goosewrangler never finished his entry for Day 13 of the lockdown.

Balthazar BeanconsumerEdit

Day OneEdit

A year ago, I was tired of people trespassing on my property. They would leave candy wrappers and other trash and ruin the garden I don't have. I'd had enough of that, so I went to my local Walmart to get some seeds. I got lost in there, but I made it out, and I had more seeds than I could count. I planted them, every last one of them, all over my ten and a half acres of property - I've got the only green space in town, and before those seeds, there wasn't a plant to be found. But before long, the plants grew, and grew, and grew, and I realized with glee that I had unknowingly purchased poison ivy! Lots of it! No one could get on my property now!

But now, in the time of corona, the need for toilet paper arose, and there was none to be found. Someone bought it, all of it, and I had no choice but to resort to leaves. 

You can imagine how that's going.

Day Two Edit

I spent all day gathering leaves to use, and there are so many leaves on my property that I quickly became submerged in them. Leaves, leaves all over me...poison ivy leaves, of course.

I'm going to have a hard time hiding the rash now. It's EVERYWHERE, and someone bought everything in all the stores, even LOTION. This is a respiratory virus! What in the name of Olive Garden fettucine does one need LOTION for?

But yes, there is nothing to help my terrible poison ivy.

It's going to be a long quarantine.

Day Three Edit

The poison ivy gets worse with every passing minute, and...and... CURSE THE MUD-SUCKER THAT BOUGHT ALL THE LOTION AND OINTMENT AND STUFF! I'm mad. I'm itchy. I need my lotion and I need it now.

Day Four Edit

The itching has only gotten worse, and I have begun to notice sprouts on my skin. Yes, sprouts. The more poison ivy I come in contact with, the more little sprouts I see, and I'm beginning to question the quality of Walmart's seeds. This poison ivy seems to be a LITTLE radioactive.

Day Five Edit

The sprouts have only grown, and I have begun to see leaves appear. I speculate they will soon be everywhere and that I will look like a swamp monster.

Maybe I can break into someone's house and scare them enough to get them to hand over some of the lotion they've been hoarding. I am the Itchy Leaf Man. Fear me. Roar.

Day Six Edit

I heard commotion outside and went to check it out, and I had to move the leaves out of my face to see what was going on. The house down the street was surrounded by an angry mob of people with pitchforks, though they couldn’t do a very good job of surrounding it, being six feet apart. But it appeared to be a siege of some sort, and I went back to my house to retrieve my own pitchfork.

Of course, I don’t happen to have a pitchfork, but surely a container of Lysol wipes will do. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but it’s what I got.

Day Seven Edit

Before I join the siege, I must water my leaves. These stolen water bottles will do nicely.

Day Eight Edit

My leaves are thriving, and I am 100% covered in poison ivy. I am ready to join the siege with my Lysol wipes!

If only I could find said Lysol wipes...

Day Nine Edit

The siege seems to have ended, but I wait in the bushes for that fool D'Artagnan to turn his back...

Day Ten Edit

I've got D'Artagnan in my sights.

He's sitting outside writing in a journal - I'm assuming that he too keeps a diary in these times - and he looks very pleased with himself, far too content for my liking. He hoarded more than anyone else in the neighborhood, and-

Hold that thought.

He just got up.

He's going inside his house - no, his garage. What is he getting? Is he getting a roll of toilet paper with which to mock the neighborhood, the world? Does he want to flaunt his seemingly infinite stock of baby wipes?

What is he doing?


It's been a good few minutes, but D'Artagnan has reappeared, pulling a wagon covered with a sheet. What could be under that-


He just removed the sheet, revealing bottles and bottles of the stuff, and my age-old rash screams in envy, desiring nothing more than the soothing caress of lotion, lotion, lotion!

My Lysol wipes are ready!

The time has come to...


Day Eleven Edit

Haha, yes! At long last! Lotion!

...Though looking in the mirror at my leafy form, I suppose it's a bit too late now.

Day Twelve Edit

I crave breadsticks. I desire them so deeply that all I can see before me is bread, not the world. There is only bread.

I shall pick up the phone momentarily and order curbside pickup from the local Olive Garden. Then I shall have my bread.

Day Thirteen Edit

I sit and wait in the parking lot. I've been sitting here for an hour already, and there's no sign of my food. I've called them time and time again, but there is never an answer. It's like they took my order and then vanished into the void.

I don't know if this is worth mentioning, but the gentleman who took my order sounded rather funny. His voice was very squeaky and sounded more like a chorus of voices talking all at once. There was also quite a bit of noise in the background, though I suppose cooking sounds are typical of an Italian kitchen.

Except I could've sworn I heard chanting.

Something about protecting the Olive Garden.

Artemis CheesewhalesEdit

Day OneEdit

I'm out of bagels. All I have to eat is bananas because I panicked and bought an unholy amount of them at Target.

So to say the least, I’m going bananas.

Day Two Edit

Today I have consumed 300 bananas so far. I have started climbing on things and hanging by my feet. Ooo ooo eee eee. -scratches armpits-

Day Three Edit


Day Four Edit

I have run out of bananas and had no choice but to leave my house. Restaurants are still open around here, but only for drive thru and pickup, so I went to Burger King. Their paper crowns are delicious.

Day Five Edit

Today I went to Olive Garden, and I was disappointed that there was no garden, nor were there any olives. The place was unusually quiet - no one was there, and I had to get in by breaking a window. I'm sure this is perfectly legal.

Day Six Edit

I am writing this from where I sit under a table, and I hear a strange noise coming from the kitchen. I shall investigate once I have finished these b r e a d s t i c k s. -munch-

Day Seven Edit


The Olive Garden kitchens are something to fear.

A spaghetti sauce jar crawled after me, and the wine bottles blocked my escape. Lasagnas came to life, and dishes of mac and cheese chanted vengeance, vengeance, vengeance for their fallen breadstick brothers. I barely escaped with my life, losing my Burger King crown in the process, and I wait here in the dark in an undisclosed location, scarcely daring to breathe.

As I write this, I can hear noodles slithering across the floor and kitchenware clanking, and all around are whispers, strange whispers, of protecting the sacred olives. Whatever these sacred olives are, I want to find them and eat them. Mm.

Day Eight Edit

A piece of lasagna nearly discovered my hiding place, but I trapped it under a colander and stuffed it in the broom closet. I can hear it growling, so I must hurry - I keep hearing whispers of these olives, and they sound delicious, even more so than Burger King crowns.

I have to find them.

Before the food finds me.

Day Nine Edit

I appear to have fallen into a trap door.

Day Ten Edit

It is very dark in here - however, I have managed to salvage a battery for my flashlight, giving me just enough light to write this.

Aaaand enough light to see the mutant lasagna sleeping in that corner.

I don't know where I am, but it appears to be a dungeon of some sort, and I have to find a way out. Quickly. Before the lasagna awakens.

Overhead, I can hear the noodles and breadsticks scuttling about, chattering to one another in their strange tongue. I tighten my grip on the spatula I grabbed, ready to fight if I have to, and I can hear my heart thumping. No, thumping's not the right word. It's pounding, racing, screaming in my chest like unholy thunder.

I don't like mutant Italian cuisine.

Day Eleven Edit

Something nearby is growling, hissing, snarling like a terrible beast, like the Burger King when he sees you go to McDonald's instead. I can't imagine what it might be, as the mutant lasagna still sleeps and my flashlight illuminates no other signs of-



I just barely got away from the spatula.

It burst to life in a snarling fit, ripping itself out of my hand and chasing me through the dungeon. I don't know where I am now, but I hope I'm far enough away from that thing.


What's that noise?

Day Twelve Edit

The date is written at the top of the page, but nothing more. Historians do not know what Artemis Cheesewhales did on Day 12 of the lockdown.

Day Thirteen Edit

I am writing to inform anyone reading this that I am, in fact, alive.

I'm just not sure where I am.

For the first time in days, I am not in darkness, nor am I in hiding. There is no pasta to be seen - no mutant lasagnas, which is quite the relief - nor are there savage spatulas. All there is to see is light. Beautiful, beautiful light, and lots of clouds.


This is garlic.


I'm sitting on giant barlic gulbs.

Gralic blubs.

Garlic bulbs.

That's certainly strange, and what's even stranger is that it's started to snow, only... It's not cold here at all. How can it be snowing?

*licks the snow*

Odd. This...this is salt. And what's that green stuff that's falling now, all these little leaves? They smell like some kind of herb or spice or...


Am I being seasoned?

Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.