LOS ANGELES—William Shatner announced Monday that he is “perfectly fine,” a phrase that in Hollywood means either excellent health or the second act of a prestige drama. In this case, it means he drank water and continued being William Shatner.

He then advised the public not to trust tabloids or AI, which is like telling people not to lick doorknobs or teach raccoons to drive: technically possible, spiritually unwise, and inevitably ending in a chase scene.

Reporters nodded gravely, as if they were at a moon landing conducted from a very comfortable chair. Shatner, ageless in the way that only starlight and exceptionally good moisturizer can be, lightly scolded the rumor economy for confusing “alert and tweeting” with “gravity having final say.”

Tabloids responded with their favorite verb, “pounced,” and issued a clarification stating that their original headline—”Shatner Battling Medical Emergency After Battling Lunch”—was sourced from a guy who once saw a stethoscope on television.

Meanwhile, memorabilia sites reportedly crashed under a sudden demand for limited edition captain's chair replica. Experts agree the chair comes with zero medical certifications and exactly one smug armrest for commanding your living room.

Sources near Shatner, meaning the internet, confirmed the so-called medical emergency was him experiencing an intense reaction to someone suggesting decaf. Doctors recommend eight hours of skepticism and plenty of fluids administered via cup, not press release.

AI, feeling personally attacked, generated a thousand-word apology that accidentally turned into a five-season pitch for a show called “Captain of Feelings.” A data scientist attempted to calm the machines by reminding them emotion isn’t binary, but the algorithm insisted it was at least octal.

Shatner punctuated the saga by flipping open his AI-proof flip phone so hard the notification bubble developed a conscience. He then left a voicemail for rumor culture, stating, “Computer, end simulation,” and hung up on the concept of trending.

As someone who measures narrative by the call sheet and the calendar, allow me this: audiences want a plot twist you can verify, not a siren you can monetize. Hype is a witness; it lies unless cross-examined.

The Ministry of Unfounded Panic briefly convened, arriving on coconuts to simulate horses and a budget. They fined everyone one dramatic sting and a helicopter shot, payable in exposure and regret.

Fans sent Shatner get-well-soon cards shaped like warp cores, to which he responded by jogging briskly past their concern in a robe and slippers, autographing each with, “I’m fine, Jim, but I appreciate the subplots.”

In conclusion, Shatner remains perfectly fine, tabloids remain perfectly startled, and AI remains perfectly eager to write our funerals as meet-cutes. Until further notice, the only thing flatlining is your push notification, and yes—he’s perfectly fine; please stop diagnosing the man with a keyboard.