Suddenly, you awaken in an alley. A group of twenty-somethings dressed entirely in flannel and jeans hanging off their asses have their arms around each other as each sobs mournfully. Interested, you approach them, "Hey guys, what's going on?"
One dude barely looks at you, but wails, "Kurt Cobain is dead!"
"Oh," you think, "yeah I remember that. So?"
"What will happen now?"
"To whom?"
"The world, man! How will the world continue when everything is falling apart?"
Rockers have been killing themselves -- whether purposely or accidentally -- since the dawn of rock n' roll. You didn't have the heart to tell him the world would continue pretty much without a hiccup in the absence of another dead rocker. He hoped they weren't fans of Alice In Chains, because lead singer Layne Staley would join Cobain eight years later.
You walk away, shaking your head, "I thought that bartender offered me a big mug of Pabst, not 'Past!' Damn!"
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