The year is 2045. I'm on my death bed. My youngest great-grandson approaches cautiously. "Shakapa? Do you have any regrets?" You could cut the tension like a really thick slice of Irish soda bread, which ironically is the last food item I would ingest. "Come closer," I choke out "Come closer, Bazingo420Blaze." "What is it Shakapa?" Tears began to well in his eyes and roll down his fantastic, Andy Biersack-esque cheekbones, which he inherited from me. "Happiness," I pause to clench my surprisingly very toned and Andy Beriask-like chest "Dab... A dab away." "What does that mean, Shakapa?" Bazingo420blaze stares down into my soulful, knowing, very easily could be compared to Andre BearSock, eyes. "A dab away." I smile with tears in my blue eyes like limpid tears "Happiness is only a dab away." I then partake in a very well choreographed gesture discovered by white people in late 2015. The movement is so powerful my IV chord is ripped out of my super swole arm and I soon fall into permanent slumber.