Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I figured I had a "get out of therapy free" card when I got the order for my phsycologist's death a few months back. But then, I was taking a little stroll around Sheol the other day and ran into her. She was pissed. Pissed that I moved her down here and pissed that I hadn't been to any counselors in a while. I should have just sicked some hell hounds on her, but I have to admit, she's kinda hot when she's angry, so I took her topside for a few pints and talked her into a "session" at my place. Ha... If our earlier sessions had been anything like that, perhaps I would not have avoided therapy so much. *dimented chuckle*
Well, I did promise her to start up the journaling again, somewhere between the pints at an earth-surface pub. Well, maybe therapy has changed me some... I'm actually keeping my word to a chick, and a shrink at that. :P
Fortunately, we made a deal that I get some privacy to my journal, despite its being online, so she agreed not to read my posts.

In other news, I was excited to get some fan mail, recently, in response to this blog. But, of course, the content was a let-down.
No, folks... I cannot take requests. No, I can't get rid of your ex's and coworkers just because you send me a pic and a letter, although if you want to send me a hot pic of yourself in a thong, and you are thin and young, I will forward your requests to management.

Well... duty calls. Gotta keep the mortitians in business and the population in check, ya know. My pager has been blowing up since I got home. Why can't people OD during normal business hours? I mean, come on folks... show a little consideration.

Time to sign off. I'll be seeing you... eventually.
Bone-Daddy Grim

Better PR?

It's been brought to my attention that perhaps all I really need is a good slogan. Maybe that would turn my occupational malaise around a bit, as well as improving my public image.

This was reccomended to me:
"Death, aint I a bitch"
- - - I like it, but, I found "bitch" a little imasculating

Then I came up with these:
Death, just what the Dr ordered (Kevorkian, that is)
Death, sure as taxes but I only get ya once.
Death, the man in black.
Death, the other white meat.
The Reapster: Dead sexy
Brotha Grim, one smooth motha f- whatch your mouth!
the real Grim shady, your #1 lady killer
Death, I walk softly and carry a big sythe
Death, bad to the bones
The bloke in the cloak
Darth Grimwalker -who's your daddy?
Life sucks. Got death?

I don't know. None of them really strike me. Any suggestions???

Women are Nuts

It's only been a couple days but I haven't had a single nibble on my personal add. I surfed around online some more but haven't met anyone who'd respond. Then, I saw this add for a Free Women's Clinic. I had to check that out. I didn't waste any time. I just threw on my best cloak, shined my sythe, and grabbed my binaca. I got there and was impressed. There was a mob of people outside the place and some of the chicks were really hot. They saw me and seemed really excited. They start cheering me and stuff. They kept saying something about the statement I was making. I didn't know what that meant, but like I said, some of the chicks in the group were really hot, so I played along. I wasn't sure what 'statement' I was supposed to be making.

I finally made my way through the crowd and I figured out what was going on. They weren't offering free women. It was a women's health clinic, dammit. The mob was just a pro-life demonstration. I found that kinda funny, being death, but I have to admit I don't really like abortion either. These kids haven't even been born yet, have no names for filing under or anything, and we have to process the death papers before we even have them on file. It's a nightmare in the order processing division and confusing for me. Fetus' all look alike and don't have names or anything. It's just frickin chaos trying to tell who is who.

This really hot red-head came up to me all angry, thinking I was part of the mob. She said that a woman has a right to do whatever she wants with her body. Being death, I don't really care who gets it when. I feel bad for the folks topside who lose loved ones, really I do, but the more people I take to my side the more company I have. Still, being a stickler for phrasing I had to be overly literal again. I said "And a lovely body it is, ma'am, but a fetus would be seperate body, technically, not yours. It's the baby's body you'd be offing, not yours." She slapped me. I didn't tell her not to off the rugrat, I was just correcting her faulty statement. I tried to save the situation. I said "Hey babe, you can kill whomever you want. I do it all the time. But how about you and I wine, dine, and boff a bit first, eh?". She just slapped me again! I swear, you can't win with women. Whatever you say, pro or con, it's always the wrong thing.

What a day.... I called my shrink to tell her about it and she just said I was an insensitive prick. I told her that was absurd and that I even took herbal suppliments to have extra enhanced sensitivity, but she just hung up on me. Women... they're all crazy.

A grim Grim,
Reap

Damn Beurocracies (click image to enlarge)

This Beurocratic BS is getting to be too much. I mean HELLLOOO my name is DEATH not Life and Death. So the crooner is dead. If the CEO wants him back alive so badly, why doesn't he file a resurrection request with the man upstairs? I don't want to go doing some other guy's job. I mean, I'm not lazy, but I don't want to get the unions pissed off because I'm doing some other guy's work. They've got me in a tough spot, though. My evaluation is coming up and I hear the former Grim Reaper has gotten tired of the rock and roll life and may be trying to take my place.

This is really all I know how to do. I can't take Keith Richards' place, so if he takes mine, where do I go? This whole Elvis mistake isn't my fault. I just do what the slips say. But, I have to fix it, of course. I ordered a copy of resurection for dummies and am trying to figure out how to take care of this, but it isn't in my job description and I certainly haven't been trained for it.

I'm so sick of all this red tape and all the triplicate forms and BS. I should have been a dancer.

In corporation-hell (literally),
Your pal,
Reap

Looking For Love

I'm going to try internet dating. It was Doc's idea, but I think it may be a good one. Here's the add I plan on posting:

"Tall, dark, lanky, non-smoking male seeks voluptous bride to share a long death with. I enjoy moonlit strolls on Normandy Beach, romantic candle-lit funerals, and regular boning. Intelligence is not required but housekeeping abilities are a must. No pets, especially monkeys. I am gainfully employed in the population-control industry and have a truly unique brand-new home (designed and built by Frank Lloyd Wright) overlooking an enchanted misty river. "

What do you think? I spent a long time on it. I'm sure I'll get some responses. Who could resist that? It sounds so good I could call myself!

Your #1 lady-killer,
Pimp daddy G.

Dear Diary

Ok, the shrink says this is a journal or "feeling log", but sounds like a diary to me. Yeah, so I haven't kept up with my entries. I missed an appointment with the therapist too. They hunted me down in some bar called The Naked Turtle on the East side of Cozumel Island. Apparently, I'd gone on a total bender and drank myself crazy for a few days. I don't remember it. I remember the Naked Turtle, though. They had monkeys. I like Monkeys. Monkeys are funny. I was standing there, watching these monkeys, though, and some dude yells at me "Ten Cuidado, Sr! Los Changos se gustan tirar caca!". I was so drunk, it took a minute to sink in and the d@m# primate got me right in the face with a wad of monkey poop. It was all stuck in my nose-hole. Sometimes I wish I had a regular face. I can create the illusion, and even make it tangible, but I have to think to make it tangible and thinking wasn't my strongsuit just then.

Anyway... so I've got this new monkey-rug at my place, but it's awfully small. I just use it in front of the door to wipe my boots on. Stupid frickin monkey. Guess it's back to the grind. I have to go see the head-shrink after work tomorrow. Wish me tolerance.

Hung over in Hades,
Reap

A nice day topside

Maybe the shrink was right about this online-journaling thing. I started surfing online and had a chat with Twisted Noggin of Greymattermeltingpot. Turns out, we go way back (by human standards, anyway). I picked up her mom, all 4 grandparents, a bunch of aunts, uncles, friends, etc… I remember some of them. She sure surrounds herself with an eccentric bunch of wackos. Some of them are hilarious, though. Most of them I had to pick up on #3 orders (cancer, that is), so some of them were relieved to go. That Dawn chick kicked me straight in the balls, though, after all the pain I saved her from. She was feisty. She never whined about only being in her 30’s but she was not about to leave her kids and husband behind without a fight. I must admit, I admired her. I still meet up with her now and then for Coronas and pop-rocks.

Anyway, Twisted doesn’t seem to hold too big a grudge. She knows it wasn’t my choice who went or when, but she misses them a lot. We had a great chat. I bought her a few Guinness at the local pub so we could talk face-to-skull. She said that the whole new-look thing wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, but not to try and be someone I’m not. She said to try something that embraced who I was, even the things I was insecure about. Apparently, she was horribly embarrassed about being so tall when she was younger. She started wearing super-tall boots and just going with it. Now, she gets a kick out of the whole Amazon-thing. So, I tried to go with the whole tough-spooky image. I got some cool spike jewelry and pierced my jaw. It looks pretty wild and didn’t even hurt. I got a new cloak that really flows cool behind me. I look like Darth Vader or something. I don’t know… it may not get me a Mrs Reaper, but a little confidence never hurts.

Peace out,
The real Grim Shady

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

A new look

My therapist said maybe I could regain enthusiasm for my job if I went for a new look or image or something. At first I thought she was crazy, but I started thinking about making a new cloak and, as I was shopping online for fabrics, I started to get into the idea.
I picked out some stuff that will put James Brown's capes to shame. I also found some fake leapord fur for the lining and it is so soft. It looks really realistic, too.
I might get some funky elevator boots or something to go with it. Then again, added heigth might just make me more intimidating. I think I want to go less scary, more sexy.

Here goes nothin

Well, I think it's stupid but my therapist says I need to "cronicle my thoughts" and "get in touch with the inner-Death". I think it's a load of hooey. Of course I'm miserable with my job. Sure, it was fun at first... touch some guy with a boney finger and he drops like a fly in a stream of Raid. I used to get a real kick out of it. Sometimes they'd just drop at the sight of me. But, come on... any job will get old after all this time. I don't even know how many years it's been. Of course, I got so carried away (power-drunk, I guess) that I went trigger-happy on the dinosaurs and wiped them out. I dont' miss them, though. Humans are more fun.

I'm just tired, you know? I need some time off or a change of pace, or something. It's not like I can get promoted or anything. Where would they find a new Death? I need to do something though. I've gotten complacent and taken the wrong people a few times. I just need some rest. Maybe I'll take a nap.

Tired in Sheol,
Reap