My loyal readers, even the deathless death couldn’t stop me from feeding you another delicious satire this week. I know you read the headline, so I’ll save you the time — yes it is true. I have it. I am sitting in my bed, writing this to you all knowing that it very well may be my last article ever for The Post. Please, remember me.

Story time ***EMOTIONAL***

It was a typical Wednesday morning when I arose like a spring chicken at 7:30 a.m. — yes, I am aware that I have an 8 a.m. and that yes, I need to wake up at 7 a.m. in order to get there on time. Your point? Anyways, I had a light tickle in my throat, but that didn’t stop me from going though the routine. It wasn’t until 6 p.m. when I realized I was doomed.

I coach lacrosse at a local high school on Wednesdays, and on God, when I walked into that gym — late may I add — I realized I should’ve been walking into the nearest hospital instead.

The coughing was endless. The headaches were powerful. The nausea was absolutely relentless. My boss, a lovely 73-year old-man, looked me dead in the eyes and said “You have the coronavirus.”

It was at this moment everything fell into place. My life finally felt like a solved Rubix cube rather than the jumbled mess I was living before. Yes, it must be, I have the coronavirus.

I knew I had to take action before the disease consumed my already weak body. I went to my most trusted doctor, WebMD, and looked up my symptoms.

Alas, right there in between an ad for a miracle weightless fruit found in Africa and “Top 10 symptoms of mesothelioma” was the answer. All my symptoms of a runny nose, coughing, sore throat, sinus pressure and fever clearly meant I had the coronavirus. Here’s the link if you don’t believe me.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Lauren, you dummy, the coronavirus is only in China.” That is an arrogant and uneducated lie, and I need you to reevaluate yourself before you utter such nonsense again. China? Give me a break.

It has been five whole entire days since I was self-diagnosed with this deadly illness, and I have shown no signs of improving. I have gone through three boxes of tissues and tried four different kinds of over the counter medicine, to no avail. We must simply face the facts. This may be it, loyal readers.

My best friend suggested a possible cure — a bottle of Corona to drown the virus. This is a very logical solution, if not for the fact that I am underage, and would never DARE try the Devil’s juice before turning the tender age of 21. That being said, if I will die otherwise, wouldn’t it be worth a shot? You know, for science?

In the meantime, the end is near. If you need me, I’ll be lying in my bed, hugging my fourth box of tissues.