When I found a pair of expensive looking, semi-rimless shades at a flea market that only cost 5 bucks, I thought my luck was finally starting to turn around. (I have spent the last several years claiming to be a sovereign citizen and refusing to pay taxes. Just an hour before I found these shades, the IRS seized my assets, informing me that it is illegal to do this.) However, the mysterious old man who sold them to me warned that I would pay for them with more than just money.

“Pfff,” I said. “Get real dude. You sound like a straight-up clown, and I regard you as such.” As I drove home, I thought a better response would have been, “I’ve been divorced two times, so I think I know what it’s like to pay for things with my soul.” I turned around and went back to the flea market to tell the vendor my funny joke, but by the time I got there… He was gone. Not even a trace of him was left behind.

Later that night, something strange happened when the delivery guy arrived with the spicy noodles I ordered (I mention that they are spicy so you know I can handle the heat and I am not, as so many have claimed, a big dumb baby). I was wearing my new sunglasses at the time, as I wanted to show them off.

Keep in mind that Derek sees me at this 7-Eleven every single day, and has never once commented on my appearance.

But when I looked at the delivery guy, a vision came to me. In it, he wasn’t grumbling angrily about only being tipped a dollar like he was when he left my doorstep, but instead, he was dead. He had attempted to electrocute himself in order to get his skeleton to come to life, dance around, and play the xylophone with its ribcage. However, the electrical current only succeeded in stopping his heart. Animating one’s skeleton is something we’ve all considered, but few of us have had the gall to attempt. Later that night, I turned on the news and I saw the same man’s face.

“Dead in accidental electrocution,” the newscaster said.

After I saw visions for the deaths of my parents, my ex-roommate, all my neighbors, the high school kid who I buy beer for in exchange for his explaining to me how to do skateboarding tricks, my mail carrier, my boss, and the crusty old dean I had in college who always threatened to expel me because of my pranks and general debauchery, I began to think that I should consider the possible option of potentially getting rid of the glasses.

But the situation became unexpectedly complicated when Derek, the cashier at the 7-Eleven near my home (who will die while trying to use the nitrous boosters he shoddily installed in his Saturn), saw my new shades. He took one look at me and said I looked “bitchin’ as hell.” Keep in mind that Derek sees me at this 7-Eleven every single day, and has never once commented on my appearance. Clearly, these sunglasses made an impression.

With praise so glowing, how could I get rid of these sunglasses? What if I get a new pair and instead of being bitchin’ as hell, they are just bitchin’? Or worse: not bitchin’ at all. This is a risk I am simply unwilling to take, even if it ensures that my eyewear is curse-free.

To be completely honest, seeing how everyone I encounter will ultimately succumb to the cold indifference of death is a total bummer. I’d even go so far as to say it sucks pretty hard. At the same time, I have never had a pair of sunglasses fit my face so well. I have a bit of an oblong head, so it can be difficult to find frames that don’t look too small on me. Plus, they’re 100% UV protected, which is really helpful. Unlike the violent depictions of death and despair, UV rays are blocked from entering my eyes.

Unfortunately, it’s going to be really tough to decide what to do, as this seems to be one of those instances where the pros and the cons just even out.


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