Death Becomes Her. (I’m Referring to Myself When I Say Her. I’m Her. Death Becomes Me.)

Everyone harbors special talents that really may serve no purpose except to entertain ourselves. Bragging is unattractive, but I can eat 4 pieces of Texas Toast and sit through 3 seasons of the Sopranos without blinking/exhaling/contemplating my mortality and misguided life choices.

Among giant bread scarfing, filtering my identity out of photos, and mouth breathing, I do have one hidden talent that has remained hidden, as to not frighten the kids/my mom/your nana+papi. ESPECIALLY, your nana+papi. I don’t know if that’s a real word people use for their grandfathers or if I’ve just been exposed to JLO too early in my life to know any difference.

Back to my talent, or maybe it’s more of a condition, but I  have a knack for predicting when someone is about to feel the dank kiss of death. Sometimes days before, sometimes months before they die. DON’T X OUT YET. I have a pretty solid record of being right about it. I can’t name names specifically (at least not usually) but I can tell if male/female, age range, and what type of relationship I have to them. Kind of like those cats that walk around hospitals and snuggle with the old people who are about to die.

WEIRD, RIGHT?

Feel free to ask questions. It’s weird and I don’t even really understand it, but that’s like most secret abilities and gifts, I suppose.

Normally, I would have never shared this on here but it happened when a distant relative died this past week and I was thinking about how I still hadn’t come up with a post for the week. HEHE.

Alright kids, enjoy your Monday!

Love,

Lolo von Iseedeadpeoplebutnotreallythatdbeweirdasshitsteinbergsongirl

P.S. Enjoy this picture of Peaches.

Image

4 comments

  1. Despite the dark undertones of this message, I laughed quite a bit and I’m going to start calling everyone papi. I’ll be in my room eating Texas Toast if you need me.

    1. I’LL TRY. Thank the Lord and Savior Mr. Tasty Burger that I can’t look at people and predict their death. It’s more like a “I woke up like dis” heavy feeling in my chest, and then someone croaks.

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