"Your status update is too long. The maximum status length is 420 characters, but it is 2817 characters long."
Facebook says I can’t post this as a “status update.” My status, at the time, was more complicated that 420 characters could ever describe:
f I die of Swine Flu, I want my gravestone to read “I survived swine flu.” If I die of something else, it can still read that, as long as there’s some kind of notation pointing out the original ironic intent of the epitaph; this is completely null if I die in several years, when many “fad” sicknesses and diseases have come and gone, so generally, as a legal document of Facebook (aka bullshit), stick the “I survived…” and fill it in with the latest, most ironic-sounding sickness that I may or may not have survived—and actually, now that I think about it some more, the technology may exist to have a readerboard inserted into the headstone somehow, allowing it to constantly be updated by anyone interested in ironic longevity, and could be made to read different things on an ever-changing basis, providing (if only to the few cemetary perusers with a quick eye for humor and dazzly readerboards) a steady dose of wit in a place most would not expect. Of course, some would argue that this little touch might be humorous to a few but astoundingly more offensive to anyone with a nearby deceased relative (or friend/acquaintance, as intimate interpersonality is not imperative when talking of insensitivity and offensiveness, especially considering today’s—though not necessarily the future’s—political climate) who may have actually died from swine flu! And given the readerboard’s ability to dish out constantly updated wit and (some would say) sarcastic pomposity, the number of offended relatives/friends/acquaintances/co-workers/casual encounters/missed connections would increase exponentially—assuming that Darryl, the readerboard’s technician (I’m going out on a limb here) was an effective and knowledgeable person with an eye for fad-sicknesses as opposed to random and irrelevant occurences (such as “I survived the John Wayne museum,” or “I survived Margot At the Wedding”) that more or less popped into his head. Darryl would be a much more reliable readerboard operator if he could quit drinking once and for all and save enough money to finally buy those GED study materials so that he can pass the actual GED exam and can stop blaming the spelling mistakes (like the unfortunate “I survived dessert”, which still made a bit of sense if you didn’t know Darryl was actually trying to refer to that one time I was trapped in the middle of the desert and was followed around by Gus Van Sant who made me look a lot like Matt Damon and named his movie something I can’t remember, but you can see how it makes sense but it doesn’t make sense, especially if you’re in on the joke, you see what I mean?) and tense confusion (ha!) on the booze and start taking real steps in the right direction. Of course, this is all moot if Darryl is the bastard that kills me. If that’s the case, then nevermind.
