Another day in Sheol

The journal of the Grim Reaper, aka Death.

Friday, May 27, 2005

Stupid Therapist

The new cloak idea sucked. Changing my image was a rotten idea. No one would take me seriously at all. Some idiot sprayed me with red paint thinking the fur was real. I almost took him in, but he has several years to go. His destined death is a slow and rough one, so I have motive to be patient.

I've been petitioning to be allowed a Mrs. Death. I saw some chick at the pub, recently, and she's due to kick the bucket within the week. So, maybe I could still take her out of the world, but just keep her here with me. Win-win, you know? Normally, my position is a solitary one and my quarters are off limits to anyone but me. Still, I'm working on an addendum to my contract that would allow me a partner of sorts.

They're talking about requiring she be willing, though. Where am I supposed to find a hot babe who wants to spend her life with a skeleton? Maybe I can just trick one into eating pomegranite. Worked for Hades, kinda.

Lonely in Sheol,
rimmy-G

2 Comments:

Blogger Anonymous Poet said...

Hi death! How are you? Any chance you could avoid me for a while -- like forever?

7:33 PM  
Blogger TwistedNoggin said...

Unfortunately, I never know who I'm supposed to pick up until I get the orders. You know how these beurocrats are... all in the paper-work.
You aren't on the roster right now, though. Just keep away from hydrogenated oils and don't follow too closely in traffic. The paper-pushers seem to have a real eye on those things.

3:00 PM  

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