On the one hand Jenny McCarthy is kind of a murderer, so it’s weird to see her appear on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve as though she were a celebrity in good standing, like Robert Wagner or Caitlyn Jenner (ha ha! see what I did there?). On the other hand, she is like Lindsey Stone, who took an offensive picture and thought of everything except the year she was living in. Fifteen years ago, Lindsey Stone would’ve been a name with no link, and no photo. Fifteen years ago, Jenny McCarthy would’ve been a harmless eccentric.
Harmless because if even if she had gone on TV and told everyone that vaccinations were like fluoride and interfered with your precious bodily fluids, she’d be just another crank, like Shirley MacLaine and her past lives or Erik Estrada and his psychic friends. She would have persuaded a half dozen easily persuadable people who were already practicing macrobiosis and combing D&D manuals for Satanic riddles. Without the infrastructure of the internet to bring these people together, if they had to reply instead on their photocopied parodies of APA zines, their children would have gone vaccine free and unnoticed in the vast herd immunity that was America.
Of course, that infrastructure was in place, and McCarthy galvanized the gullible who have come to trust celebrities more than mere doctors. But her guilt is an accident of timing. And who among us hasn’t forgotten, as we put on a Halloween costume designed to look like 9/11, assuming our friends will understand our irony and that will be the end of it, what year it was?
Jenny McCarthy, you could have been the hilarious Erich von Daniken of vaccines. Too bad you killed people.