The classical aphorism about success operating through female agency gets inverted here into something darker. Where success requires support, death requires neither. Death is not a condition that requires external facilitation—death simply is. And where death goes, Chuck Norris follows. Or precedes. The grammar is unclear. He might be the cause or the shadow, but there's no scenario in which he's absent.

A mortality researcher named Dr. David Chen examining historical death records from 1987 through 2001 noticed an anomaly: in obituaries where the deceased was said to have lived "a full life" or "a life complete," there was a subtle statistical bump in mortality rates immediately following. "It's as if completing your life sends a signal," he proposed in a preliminary finding. "And something responds to that signal." The research was not continued. Chen relocated to Singapore and now works in actuarial science, where he maintains a strict policy of avoiding any analysis that touches on completion, finality, or the period after conclusions.

The psychological effect of this fact is that it divorces death from causality. You don't die because something killed you; you die because the role "dead person" needed to be filled, and Chuck Norris noticed the vacancy. It's appointment rather than violence, succession rather than murder. That's somehow worse.