Long gone are the days when Covid records were set when they exceeded the hundred, five hundred or a thousand mark - now LTV's nightly "Covidorama" news program and the Covidpress were eagerly awaiting ten thousand, but so far the Latvian champs have only managed to get over 9000. "Hey, how are you doing? Ah, sick with Covid? That's a given, but what's new?" - that's how every ordinary Latvian champ now starts a phone conversation.
It turned out that the Latvian champs were well prepared for the next stage of the muzzling, which started on January 25, when only the medically-approved cloths and the ridiculously expensive FFP2 respirators that had been used for two years and more, worn and sniffed to the last seam, were now allowed in public places, while wearing cloth masks in public places was perceived as joining the anti-vaxxer movement, for which the most terrible punishment of all in recent times - the revocation of the Covid certificate - was imminent. People peacefully muzzled themselves, walked with the correct rags on their face, and nobody was going to get upset over such a trifle, although a scary campaign was announced on social networks "Dont be a slave, dont be a sheepel, down with the masks, dismis the Saima!" - without the wilted and missing Gobzems' rhododendron campaign, there was seemingly nothing to plough anymore.
Meanwhile, the healthy pianist Pavļuts was about to initiate a discussion at the coalition meeting on the next steps in social distancing to reduce the spread of Covid. "We need to see if we can restrict people from gathering outside the household, but maybe we can also restrict people from gathering inside the household and in their outhouses," the minister wondered, rubbing his hands. But the zealous Daniels did not even really make it to the coalition meeting, and even decent Krišjānis said in the bustle that they had to stop jerking the public around with the restrictions. "I am in favor of moving as quickly as possible so that we can lift the remaining restrictions," Kariņš said on LTV's "Morning Pornorama".
"Shitty idea!" the Ministry of Health almost out said loud when hearing that, and immediately set about a plan to lift the Covid restrictions, promising to do so at a time when the incidence of the disease had fallen dramatically, which essentially meant never. With this set-up, the MoH had no problem promising that when the Omicron storm dies down, the pigs start flying, hell freezes over and the cows come home the restrictions would be reduced to those already in place. What would be reduced and where the Omicron storm, whirlwind, typhoon and tsunami were now raging was not clear to anyone. The press release issued by Pavļuts explained that, if the virus did not cause any unpleasant surprises, we could start preparing for a safe, creative and free summer, while at the same time preparing for a scary, deadly and lockdowny autumn and winter - everything as usual in recent years.
"The Ministry of Health has only one thing to say at the moment - vaccinate, vaccinate and vaccinate, oh, and wear masks! The public must be told one simple message - let's get vaccinated and wear masks, let's get vaccinated and test, let's get vaccinated and use condoms, oh, no, not that one, it doesn't need to think about anything more than a jab in the shoulder from morning till night!" urged Kariņš. He also thumped his chest and said he would be among the first to go get a fourth jab if it was needed. "Whether it will be three months after the second, six, nine or twelve months after - we don't know yet, just like we don't know when I am going to get the sixth, ninth or twelfth jab," said Kariņš. "Hey, but that tall chap from the orienteering community who calls himself a doctor, Apinis, if I remember correctly, was really right - this guy here is a manic hypochondriac who should be kept in permanent quarantine!" the ungrateful Latvian people were horrified.
A big mess happened to the former Interior Minister Ģirģens, whose subordinate was dragged onto the court bench for sneaking out an official phone for the private use of the ex-minister. You see, Ģirģens was too lazy to rewrite all the contacts on the phone, download and reinstall the apps and back up the pictures after his ministering, and there were concerns that there might be nude pictures or links to porn sites stashed on it, so he allegedly asked for a deed stating that the phone had been kicked by a cow, mauled by a horse, slobbered on by a dog and pooped on by a flying chicken while he was on his motorbike and should therefore be denationalized, deratified, disposed of and otherwise written off. When this mess came to light, Ģirģens promised to complain and sue and said it was all a plot by the Masonic Lodge, the Israeli secret services and the Russian black hand of Putin to take revenge on him and all honest civil servants for destroying the tradition of crooked procurements in the Ministry of the Interior, eliminating the Sicilian mafia and preventing a nuclear war. "Oh, dear," sighed the ungrateful Latvian people. "What kind of crime-fighting and corruption elimination can we talk about if the Minister of the Interior doesn't even know how to steal a phone!"
The fact that politicians here can only get in trouble for booing in public places, cheating to get parking passes, appropriating mobile phones and the like, was also evidenced by the fact that in the landmark week of the adoption of the 2022 budget for Riga, former mayor Nils was finally indicted, not for his earnings from Rīgas satiksme or elsewhere, but for possession of a banned surveillance device. Exactly two years ago, the KNAB had found a device in Ušakovs' office at Riga City Hall that was designed to secretly record conversations. Although it initially appeared that someone had planted the bug in Ušakovs' office, the honorable Nils was charged with illegally trying to eavesdrop and film himself. Isn't that just a horrifying story.