If I Should Die Tonight…

…please know that my last tweet probably means bupkis.  Nothing deep.  Just something I thought of right fast.  Had to let you know that before I mess around, get hit by a bus, and you guys think of putting any of that stuff on my tombstone.
After DJ AM died, I saw zillions of people talking about how “deep” his last tweet was.  That tweet reads as follows.
“New york, new york. Big city of dreams, but everything in new york aint always what it seems.”
It’s funny.  I just see Dogg Pound lyrics.  I listened to the radio on Monday, and I heard people saying that was “deep.”  Read the same thing on Twitter a few times.
Where is this depth?
Sometimes, people die.  And everything they did right before they died was their last something.  Last meal, last shower, last date, everything.  Stuff doesn’t get deep because your numbers was called.  If it’s not a suicide note, it’s just a friggin’ coincidence, in all likelihood.
As for this one?  I bet a million people go to New York and send that.  If one of my friends did, I’d silently remark how cliche that was.
If that tweet is deep, then let me offer some more wisdom from those sages from Long Beach.
“I’m dishin out blues, I’m upsetting like bad news, cutoff khakis, french braids, and house shoes.”
Call me Confucius, baby.
See, this is why you don’t say anything crucial on Twitter.  For one, if it’s crucial and you put it out there, you’re either talking too much about your business or crying out for help.  Neither is a good look.  Cut that shit out.
But there’s the other thing — Twitter can be an armchair psychologist’s dream.  I readily admit that I follow Donte’ Stallworth just to get a glimpse of what his life’s like right now, and I find it to be really interesting.  I’m not about to crack into his psyche with this, but it’s a trip to see him cheer on his teammates knowing why all he can do is tweet.  My voyeuristic side loves this stuff.
But hey man, it’s Twitter.  Let’s not get carried away.
But we’re in a world where people are delving into Michael Beasley’s tweets like they’re from his journal or something.  Is Beasley troubled?  Sounds like it.  Do his suicidal-sounding tweets mean that he was going to kill himself?  Maybe, I guess.
Or maybe he’s just the cat that overreacts.
Or maybe he’s got a really bad sense of humor.
I have no idea.
But in a world where people are so desperate for answers and quick to jump to conclusions, you better keep in mind that each tweet might be your last.
Myself, I’m comfortable with the epitaph on my headstone being this right here.