I was re-testing my good ole Flushmaster 2000 when I heard the terrible news. Yes, my Galaxy (the phone, not the empty space) is Flushmaster proof and I do multitask. I just don't take this kind of news very well, so I resort to spinning yet another lame joke. But he's dead and I'm not amused.
Live long and prosper... what does that even mean? Eighty-three sure isn't long in my book. I just hope he found a way to prosper. He was bright enough. He was more talented than I will ever be. And when it comes to success, well, I guess I need to dream less and act a bit more if I ever want to attain the level of success that would've made Spock wonder if perhaps the human race needs saving. There you go... another one of my icons dead.
Death is blind to excellence. Did you know? I first realized my clock was ticking when I was seven years old and Gramps told me Elvis had left the building — but for good. That bit of news stopped me right in my tracks and the first cracks in my faith were there for all the world to see. But no one cared about a seven-year-old's world views so no one ever noticed but me. And when the bearer of the bad news himself rushed down that eternal abyss one year down the proverbial line, I sat down and never smiled again, except on the outside.
Spock is dead, people. Think about it.
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|No, I could've never filled his shoes.|