PORTLAND, OR (AND EVERYWHERE ELSE ON EARTH) - Following the deaths of Lemmy Kilmister, David Bowie, and Alan Rickman, all of which occurred within an unfavorably short amount of time, citizens the world over have been forced to collectively grapple with the fleeting nature of existence.
"It's like, damn, man. If they can die, God, it could happen to anyone," opined Tim Rasmussen, a jelly donut filler from Baton Rouge, LA.
The pangs of existential dread hit arguably closest to home in the United Kingdom, where the three stars in question were all born.
"It seems like it was just yesterday we were mourning Bowie, and now we all have to get back together and mourn Alan Rickman. I'm almost as tired of standing outside in the rain and holding hands as I am of my favorite celebrities suddenly dying," said Sadie Murphy, a packing tape inspector from Brixton.
Sources confirmed that most people go about their daily lives pushing all thoughts of death and doubts of an afterlife to the back of their minds, instead choosing to focus on more trivial matters such as the infinitesimally small chances of winning the Powerball, the few highlights of the otherwise inane industrial circle jerk that is the Golden Globes Award Ceremony, and whatever the hell kombucha is.
In related news, cancer is still a pervasive cunt.