How Death Socks It To You, Only The Internet Knows

The Internet knows EVERYTHING. Even how I’m going to die. That’s why it’s undefeated…for now.

All good things must come to an end and I’m not referring to my wonderfully beautiful joyous life; I’m talking about The Internet’s undefeated streak. It must come to an end! I insist that The Internet take an “L” because that’s the only way I’ll Live. See, The Internet predicted I’m going to die. And to be honest, I’m not really feeling that.

The Internet is diss-respeck-full. It didn’t say I might die, or the forecast calls for a high probability of death, The Internet presented it as a declarative-absolute truth-statement: Dennis, you’re going to die.

Maybe not those same words, but close enough. Here’s the picture from an ad The Internet let pop up on my screen. You tell me what you would have thought if you were me.

Okay, so my wording was slightly off. But “4 Signs You’re About To Die Of a Heart Attack,” isn’t exactly nice wording either. And why does The Internet have to put that kind of negative energy out into The Universe? It could’ve been “4 Signs You’re About To HAVE a Heart Attack.” The “Die part,” though? There was no need to roll that die. People have heart attacks and live everyday, B.

Confession: The picture that accompanied the words bothered me more than the words that accompanied the picture. I think it hit too close to home: a conversation I had with my son, while we were standing in the dust-covered living room, where home renovations were currently underway. I asked my son his recollection of what we discussed that day.

If he draws a blank, I’ll probably have to send him a close-up of that unsettling ad The Internet messed me up with this morning; it really shook ones shook me up.

My son didn’t draw a blank, though. This is his verbal reply to my text:

“Socks left deep red impressions on your ankles like when people tie up the red meat with string. Tight & tender. I don’t know why you had your socks on so tight–that’s not good for your circulation.”

Now on scale of death, how much does this close-up of the anonymous body part,

brought to me by The Internet, look like it fits my son’s description?

And I wish I could say the plot stopped there, but apparently someone (maybe one of Death’s minions) over-poured the cornstarch because the plot thickened to the point of Audre Lorde up in heaven; the plot felt downright “concretized” after what came next:

The Internet’s next gift was art work; immediately after the “Tight & Tender” anonymous body part left my screen, it was replaced by a drawing entitled “HEART ATTACK.” You can’t make up this level of too much to take.


I was so nonplussed by it all that I…

I don’t know what I did for the next several minutes; maybe I absentmindedly massaged the deep red impressions on my ankles. But after a while though, I decided to contact the artist who almost gave me a heart attack.

And even though I called the artist PMu a liar, she was gracious enough to offer her condolences on my day’s “unfortunate series of events,” and kindly allowed me to have HEART ATTACK.

(She said I could use a photo of it to accompany this entry.)

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