Man On Deathbed Just Wishes He Had Spent More Time on Twitter
I don’t have much time left on this earth. Can you pull that blanket up over my knees? I’m cold. Good. Thank you, my grandson. Come here. Closer. Come closer. Let your grandpappy talk to you before he leaves this earth. Good. That’s a good boy. Now, listen here.
I never saw the Grand Canyon. And sure, I could have loved those closest to me more. But if there’s one regret I have that I will take with me into the afterlife, it’s that I didn’t share more of my inner-monologue on Twitter. Oh, how I wish I would have jumped on a few more trending hashtags. Damnit, I missed out on some sweet retweet action.
When you’ve lived 93 years like I have, you gain a perspective on life that few people will ever have the opportunity to gain. You see things on a grand scale. The ebbs and flows of a human life are complex. Moments that once seemed like they held tremendous weight, no longer do when you get to be my age.
But there are certain, special things that you wish you would have cherished more because your time on earth is limited. Even if you live as long as I have, at the end of it all, it seems like a short time. So, sure you could eat more ice cream and take in the majesty of the first flowers of spring, but, god damnit, tweet, my boy! Tweet while you still can! The world is cruel and random. Capture it. Tweet about it. Apply an appropriate, searchable hashtag for Christ’s sake!
EKHM! EKHM! OHHHHH! AHHH!
The pain is intense. But I know it will be over soon. Thank you for coming to visit me, son. I know it’s hard to see your grandfather in such a state. I don’t have much time left. So thank you so very much.
I’m afraid to say though, that this is the reality of life. We only have so much time before we are spun from this mortal coil. Life is like a social networking platform that limits the amount of characters you can use in a single update. You have a tiny bit of space in which to jam a lot.
Please, come sit down on my bed, hold my hand. No, not my right hand. That’s the hand I’m using to live tweet my own death. Hold my left hand. Squeeze it. Please. Look at me.
Let me tell you something. Tweet, my boy! Tweet until you can’t tweet any longer. When you’re like me, old and decrepit, knocking on death’s door, you don’t want to look back and think that, God, if only you had shared more half-baked, short non-sequiturs over an ephemeral social media platform! Oh, how I could have used data to inform my content to create a more truthful connection with my audience!
Oh, the regrets I have! I can’t remember a time when my father hugged me. I killed a man, an innocent man, while serving in Korea. But, God, if I missed the boat on being an early-adopter in 2006 or 2007 when it was easier to achieve a landgrab on Twitter and gain followers quickly. Damnit! How I could have had a verified account if I’d done that. I was never verified. When I meet my maker, I can only hope to ask for a posthumous verification of @TheGambler867.
EKHM! EKHM! OHHHHH! AHHH!
Our time is short. At our very longest, we are still not long for life. Capture all this world has to offer, my grandson. And share it using Twitter’s multi-photo functionality to give followers a richer experience than a single-photo update allows. You can share up to ten photos and tag friends’ handles! Tag those handles, my boy! They will be more likely to share and thereby, increase the virality of those photos. You don’t want to be like me, next to death, knowing that you left even a little virality on the table.
Ahh, I’m slipping in. I can feel it. One last tweet.
“Seein’ that white light. #DownTheTunnel”
I hope it gets a few retweets. Maybe a favorite or two. I lovvvee, ekch, I love, EKCH, EKCH, I twiiiitttteerrrr!