Nothing is Certian but Death and Crackers

"All my friends die or go crazy," observed Frank, a friend, as he and another friend, Lila, waited for our burgers.
It was true. He'd buried many, and watched others self-destruct. The current crazy-goer was Coco, his desert dwelling pal who'd gone from manic to incomprehensible in recent months. We had discussed the uncertainty of the future. Where would our next jobs be? Would all the work go overseas? What would we do? That lead to the uncertainty of Coco's future.
Self absorbed slob that I am, I couldn't shake the "all my friends die or go crazy," line.
I was his friend. Was I doomed?
To sweeten the irony, Lila was in between chemo treatments for cancer (not to be confused with my other pal who survived lymphoma. What going on!? I must be a carcinogen). We'd gone out for lunch because this was a day she felt well enough to enjoy food. She was responding well to her treatments, which meant that the cancer had been evicted but endless side effects and secondary infections had replaced it. Some cancer treatments are like swinging a bat around a china shop to kill a fly. You kill the fly, but you take half the inventory with it. Was Lila doomed?
Or maybe we'd go crazy. Both of us had loons perched in our family trees. Maybe our crackpot potential (crackpotential?) was what attracted him in the first place. Our budding lunacy. I'm certianly a bit wacky alreacy. Uh oh.
Will the prophecy come true? What's in store for me and Lila? The reaper's scythe or the kook catcher's net?
p.s. to "Frank" and "Lila": Thanks for permission to tell this!