How in the World Did I Kill Abe Vigoda?

You heard me right.

But, please, readers, before you judge me too harshly, allow me to present my case to you...

Not too long ago, my wife and I were discussing Abe Vigoda. Not really sure why. It's not like he comes up a lot in daily conversation.

I asked, "When did Abe Vigoda die?"

"I think he's still alive," my wife replied.

Immediately, I flashed back to childhood years, watching
Barney Miller episodes. "That can't be! He looked like a walking corpse back in 1974! He was like...what, 90, or something! Just not possible."

My wife's fingers flew across her IPad as she searched for proof. "Yep. Says he's still alive."

"Huh," I said.

Two days later, Abe Vigoda died.

I know, I know, right? Clearly, I don't know the extent of my full-on psychic powers. But it was an accident! I swear! I didn't even know Mr. Vigoda, let alone wish him harm. 

My wife and I held a small memorial. Mostly to assuage my guilt. 

I'm not even going to tell you how we discussed David Bowie's new CD and how old he was. We all know how that ended. To which I'm incredibly sorry.

So, my wife says, "We've really got to quit talking about celebrities."

I thought about it, said, "What about Trump? Can we talk about Trump? Lots and lotsa talk about Trump?"

"Let's talk about Trump!"

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