Breaking: RFK Jr has discovered the true cause of childhood illness—mothers existing. He’s waging war on vaccines the way a raccoon wages war on a trash can lid: loudly, confidently, and with zero understanding of the hinges. And as always, the collateral damage is women’s time, patience, and sanity.

The plan is simple: if a child sneezes, accuse a mother of sorcery; if a child does fine, accuse a mother of toxic compliance. It’s a choose-your-own-matriarchy-blame adventure, featuring medieval vibes, modern microphones, and an immune system apparently powered by courtly scorn.

True to form, the data are invited but must wait in the car. We have centuries of evidence that vaccines prevent suffering, yet here we are auditioning new ways to make moms feel like they personally hand-embroidered the common cold. It’s public health by shame spiral, the only wellness plan where the side effect is patriarchy.

Imagine his dream clinic: a waiting room with a sign reading “Dads, feel free to remain theoretically supportive,” and a bell that rings every time a mother says, “I read the study.” The exam room includes a fog machine, a chalkboard of vibes, and a dartboard labeled “facts.”

Meanwhile, the rest of us inhabit reality where measles is not a think piece, it’s a virus; where antibodies don’t care about your podcast; and where mothers already juggle 400 tasks while the world asks for 401. If moms were any more resilient, they’d be declared infrastructure and finally get funding.

Parents I spoke to have begun stapling receipts to the sky out of frustration, then decorating the kitchen with a CDC-recommended immunization schedule poster. It doesn’t nag about bedtime, it doesn’t shame snack choices, and unlike a campaign stump speech, it’s peer-reviewed.

Of course there’s the wellness workaround: Drink moonlight from a mason jar, smear kale on your aura, and detox through interpretive dance until your lymph nodes achieve freelance status. For the low price of your entire evening, you too can find a new way to blame yourself for gravity.

Meanwhile, kids have two settings: sticky and asleep. They do not care about your discourse; they care about snacks, naps, and not catching diseases we already solved. If you need a talisman, try a washable vaccine card wallet—it’s cheaper than regret and machine-friendly.

At a recent press event, RFK Jr unveiled his latest scientific instrument: a mirror angled at mothers. Asked for a meta-analysis, he provided a vibe collage, three anecdotes, and a solemn promise that fear is a nutrient if you chew long enough.

The scene devolved into a Monty Python skit when the Knights Who Say Nay demanded the holy grail of “natural immunity” while wearing salad bowls as helmets. They performed the Silly Walk of Righteous Concern straight into a measles outbreak, bravely jousting with facts using baguettes.

Here’s the actual heresy: letting women breathe. Evidence says vaccines protect kids; decency says stop outsourcing the nation’s anxiety to mothers like they’re emotional landfills. The immune system is not a morality play, and shame isn’t a sterile instrument.

So yes, fight pathogens, not parents. If you must crusade, crusade against disinformation, not diaper bags. Because when the history books ask what we did to help kids, “We called their mothers witches” is a terrible epilogue—and the only herd immunity it builds is against your campaign.