Generated by Claude sonnet4.6.
A man named Gerald spent his entire life terrified of germs. Every surface, every handshake, every breath of public air was a biological war zone.
Day 1: Gerald walks into a pharmacy and announces to the pharmacist, “I need every vitamin you carry. C, D, zinc, elderberry — all of it.”
The pharmacist raises an eyebrow. “Sir, that’s… a lot.”
“I haven’t been sick in 47 years,” Gerald says proudly, slamming a fistful of bottles on the counter. “And I don’t intend to start.”
Three weeks later: Gerald is wearing a fresh pair of latex gloves while grocery shopping. A little kid runs up and sneezes directly onto his hand.
Gerald goes home and sanitizes for two hours.
He does not get sick.
Six months later: Gerald’s doctor calls him in for a routine checkup.
“Gerald,” the doctor says, leaning back in his chair, “I have to be honest with you. You are one of the healthiest patients I have ever seen.”
Gerald beams. “I knew it.”
“Your immune system, however,” the doctor continues, “is basically decorative at this point. It has never once been asked to do anything.”
The following Tuesday: Gerald gets a paper cut.
He dies.

Gerald’s obituary described him as “a man who never got sick a day in his life.” Which was technically true.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​