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Today I Think of Death

Don’t ask me how this happened, but I just caught myself spacing out. I was fantasizing about how great it would be if the film director Kevin Smith was walking down the street, just maybe eating a hot dog or perhaps talking to someone else I hate, and then, without warning, a huge moving carpet of earwigs would swiftly consume him. He’d have only time to scream, “Oh my god, earwigs!” before succumbing, and one of his arms would weakly wave above the carnage, Hollywood-style, before it went down into the roil. Then the earwigs would vanish suddenly, and there would only be a pile of gleaming, untalented bones.

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