An anecdotal account of My Death
When you’re dead it’s very hard to think of a good reason to be cheerful, simply because you’re dead. Even if you are Death (like yours truly) and have neigh ultimate power over life and the universe, its still very hard to be cheerful because you are dead. Its not even as though you have any friends to turn to simply because you are dead. So all in all being dead is a very depressing experience, so unsurprisingly I am feeling a little depressed.
Perhaps I should start again. Errrrr…… Hello, My name is Death and I am infact dead. I’m sure you know me, Death, The Grim Reaper, and to a lesser extent el hombre de los muertos, (but thats bloody hard to say when you have no tongue). However you know me my job is still the same, I kill you and the rest of your species, collect your soul and give it to the ‘big guy upstairs’. I had to make two trips for Ray Charles, Aaaaa Haaa ha ha, Aaaa ha ha ahhhhhh. Ya get it, cos he had a lot of soul, heee he he he, [sigh] my humour is wasted, I don’t know why I bother sometimes.
Gone were the days when I was worshipped as a god and with my own temples, cults and followers. I no longer strike fear into the hearts of all, infact most people don’t even think I even exist anymore, but I love to see their face when I turn up.
Although I am not pleased with how the world has turned out, I do enjoy all the new health and safety rules the government have brought in. It has prevented me from killing people during a game of conkers, or from sharp edged desks in the work place (which was my personal favourite), but it does allow me to become a little more creative in the way I work. For example just last week I had someone impale themselves on a pogo stick. This did however raise the question regarding the safety of pogo sticks and consequently had them outlawed. They have since been classed as an offensive weapon so anyone caught on one in public will be shot on site, which resulted in a lot more work for me, (I should have thought that through … damn).
People often ask me when they die, “Is Elvis really dead?”. This has to be the most God damn annoying question ever. I mean please, get over it, if you were going to fake your own death you’d die in a really cool way like saving a city from certain doom for a critical nuclear meltdown, you wouldn’t want to be remembered with your trousers round your ankles, while seeing a man about a dog, I’ve heard of people shitting themselves before they die but come on (no, nothing. Why do I make these jokes, I just don’t know). Anyway, think about it, even if he were alive he obviously doesn’t want to see you, move on, you deranged, psychopathic, stalker. I do enjoy killing celebrities particularly when they think they are bigger than Jesus, (damn beetles, I showed them).
It is pretty cool being Death I suppose with all the powers I possess but I can never find time in the day to use them properly. I mean sure I kill people with a mere thought all the time, but I can do so much more. If I wanted to I could make the entire population of the Earth perform a compilation of the Village People’s greatest hits, but I don’t. I could play interstellar snooker using the Earth as the que ball, but I don’t. I could even replace everyone’s legs with their arms and their arms with their legs, but I don’t. Well I did once but I got a bit of a talking to by God about messing up the whole fabric of life or something or other, frankly I didn’t really listen, he’s so dull and boring yet he thinks he’s all that, well I got news for ya girlfriend, you aint, mmmm hmmm.
I don’t know what happened to God, he used to be cool, I think the power got to his head. I remember on Famine’s stag do, back in the old days when Conquest was single and War was thin, we all went out after having a few and planted a load of “fossilised evidence” for evolution. I can’t believe no-one figured it out, it was so obvious. They were good times, now I’m all alone, all the other three horsemen have gone off and had a family while I’m stuck here on my own. Nowadays we’re only in christmas card contact [sigh].
I suppose I’m just lonely, I need a friend, I can’t keep talking to my horse forever. I used to try to make friends through work but its pretty hard when I am forced to kill them. I also tried placing an ad in the lonely hearts column, it read;
3569 year old white male, thin, chisseled looks, enjoy moonlit strolls, large blades and Spaced. Looking for freindship, maybe more.
... To be continued.