Insert Foot vs. Nextdoor.

LAFAYETTE, Calif. — My friends and I had this funny little thing in high school (we thought everything we did was funny) when the crowds in the hallway were thick and we decided we had places to be (not class, though, anywhere but class).

One of us would bump up against someone and yell “OW, MY SCAB.” Sometimes, because we were so clever, we’d vary our gag to yell “OW, MY RASH … PLEASE … you’re rubbing up against MY RASH.”

Disgusting, to be sure. But usually a pretty effective way of clearing a path.

I’ve tried to teach my kids this clever trick but, as with most things I hope will convince my daughters they’re blessed with a clever and funny father, they look at me like they just accidentally drank from a milk carton three months past expiration.

This brings me to my favorite social media community: Nextdoor. I love Nextdoor, especially since I lost all faith in humanity saving itself from itself.

The end times are near, which I honestly began believing in November 2017 and have since seen no indication whatsoever of humanity slowing its current death sprint toward the edge of the evolution cliff.

But back when hope still lived, I would engage people on Nextdoor. The whole idea behind Nextdoor wasn’t a bad one: Create a space where neighbors can safely communicate about what’s going on in their communities. Then the world changed. Ignorance became empowerment, logic became conspiracy, and 10 minutes on the Internet became more valuable than a college degree.

I know: I promised scabs and rashes … give me a second.

I typically stay away from the NIMBYism, classism and borderline racism constantly present on Nextdoor because who wants to hear from me when they’re busy collecting no evidence 10-month-old elections were rigged and our governor wants to close all the jails to loose hordes of rapists upon millions of registered voters.

I still occasionally tune in, however, because it’s fascinating to see how many people mistake house cats for mountain lions and the occasional grainy door camera photo of what must be a legendary goat-blood-sucking Chupacabra sauntering across their driveway in Alamo. (These are called “coyotes,” and, again, eat your outdoor cats because mammals need to eat and you keep refusing to bring your cat inside because it needs its freedom).

Back to fun with scabs and rashes.

Today I saw the most wonderful post on Nextdoor. Someone—who posted their name, which we won’t use here because we’re very gentle, non-judgmental people—posted photos of a rash on their chest, asking for help identifying it and asking what to do. The answers concerning the source of the rash were just as wonderful: bedbugs, fleas, mites, Bill Gates, poison oak, liberal microchips, spiders, chupacabras, Joe Biden and on and on.

So were the recommendation from hundreds (yes, hundreds) of non-doctors concerning the remedy. The rash, by the way, didn’t look like such a big deal at all and, believe me, I know what a serious rash looks like.

You might be surprised I have a few recommendations myself and, while I’m no doctor, I’m pretty good with the Google, so …

The first thing I would do would to be forget about dating anyone who lives within 15 miles of you.

Second thing: Notice how much internet traffic the rash pictures are generating—way more than this stupid column will get—and figure out how to monetize your rash photos because this is America. Get to making that rash cash.

Third thought: Cover it and forget it. That’s how I deal with problems, and look at how great things have turned out for me. Or get a tattoo … but not of a rash. Get a mean-looking snake or something and, if the rash persists, say it’s a scar from the time you fought a nest of rattlesnakes trying to kill your children.

Fourth and final recommendation: Put on your mask and go see a medical professional. I realize that won’t generate the hysteria we’ve come to love, but you might actually have a shot at clearing it up. Then get the hell off Nextdoor unless you’re offering neighbors free cookies or something.

Follow music critic Tony Hicks at Twitter.com/TonyBaloney1967.