The much abridged version originally published on the Male Media Mind
I haven’t written in awhile and so much shit has happened! If I were to back track I would have to go back to a couple of weeks in early March. I was having an exceptionally crappy day at work and despite the fact I was dog tired by the end of the day and despite the fact it was raining cats and dogs, I decided to fulfill my vow of going to the gym. However, when I got there I realized I was too tied to get out of the car nevertheless run laps. I decided to take a cat nap in the parking lot of the gym. I was asleep for about maybe 10-15 minutes before this almost inhumanely loud clap of thunder woke me up and scared the shit out of me. I tweeted that I was debating on whether that clap was a sign from God to go ahead and run some laps or to just go back home. I decided to go to the gym since I was already there. Supposedly Jóga (yes, Jóga of the, “I don’t fuck with Jóga anymore” fame) posted on his Facebook page that he heard the loudest thunder he had ever heard in his life. And while I was on the treadmill trying to wake myself up by running a couple of miles on the treadmill while imagining performing a live concert, singing songs by Beyonce and Lady Gaga, Jóga arrived for his shift at his job. Shortly after he arrived he collapsed. Frightened, everyone on the vicinity called the ambulance when they couldn’t revive him. They got him in the ambulance and rushed him to the emergency room. However, on the way to the hospital… he had a heart attack. And believe me, it is as hard to report as it is to believe. Jóga died. Like… died. Died dead. He was 33 years old. Jóga. It doesn’t make since. It’s just something… I would have never… ever... Dead. Not sick. Not a warning sign to maybe watch his diet and stop smoking, just snap your fingers and he’s just… gone.