OK, folks, just because we can, let’s take the temperature (rimshot) of the audience.

How are all y’all dealing with The Plague?

Here, Miss Mia Sopaipilla is banking Z’s because, hey, you never know when you’ll need to be well-rested.

Herself is business as usual at La Fábrica de Bombas — as far as we know, anyway, because classified classified classified.

And I, of course, remain in my secure location at The Compound, at the helm of my globe-spanning multimedia Cirque du So Lame, which would sound funnier if I weren’t so lame.

There’s leftover oven-baked chicken and chili con carne in the ’fridge, fresh and frozen fruits and vegetables, and the makings of a variety of vegetarian soups, stews and pasta dishes in the cupboards. We are well stocked with coffee, tea, and wine, but low on fake beer, which is not an issue as nobody ever got the DTs from a lack of fake beer.

And can you believe it? We have toilet paper. Didn’t need to wipe out (heh) a Costco to get it, either. When that runs out we’ll print mugshots of Il Douche and use those, mailing them to the Orange House afterward.

But enough about us. What’s up with you? Sound off in comments.