BOO… HOO?

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Monday October 31 had been a very long day. The doctor was locking up, but as he turned to switch off the lights he detected a Ghoulish presence in the room. No, not me, another ghastly figure. One wearing nothing more than a torn and tattered cloak.

I myself own a $9.99 windbreaker from Walmart.

“Can I help you?” the doctor asked. “No, I’m beyond help.” replied a depressed voice from the dark.

“Surely it’s not that bad.” replied the doctor to the voice. Gradually, the entity came into view. He set his scythe in the corner and began to pace (well… float actually) back and forth across the room. His head remained bowed as his bony fingers twitched. A deeply troubled soul.

“Would you have a seat or perhaps you’d like to lay on the sofa?” The psychiatrist asked.

“Lying on the sofa will do, thank you.” the Reaper replied “You see, in my line of work it’s usually the other away around.”

“Oh I see.” said the doctor knowingly.

“Do you really?” asked the Grim Reaper.”You have no idea what a joy it is to hear you say that doctor. It’s a terrible cross I bear. I run an unlicensed escort service, where all I do is collect souls day and night.”

“I can’t imagine.” said the doctor.

“Perhaps that’s because you have a license doctor. Hee, hee, hee” quipped Death. Then Death continued…

“Another thing doctor, I have no say in the matter either, I just go where he tells me when HE tells me. Ever try waking the dead doctor?”

The doctor shook his head no.

“Well just try waking up a teenager for school sometime. Same difference.”

“What about the working conditions, are they bad?” asked the doctor.

Pumpkin-Bumpker

“The worst.” replied the wraith “I have to work in all kinds of weather, and with only this ridiculous robe for protection. Because, and I’m quoting—it’s expected of me!”

“I roam cold damp cemetery’s… usually in the dark. It’s amazing I haven’t caught my death of cold already, and me with no healthcare!  The post office has nothing on me let me tell ya doctor.”

“How DO you do it?” the good doctor asked.

“Well you see, I fly… all the time. Fly all over the world. 24/7/365 days a year… no days off! Every time I step into an airport I attract the attention of the TSA. Being on time for a cadaver collection has become nearly impossible for me. So… I’ve put the TSA on borrowed time. And further more… ”

“Speaking of borrowed time Mr. Death, we’re on it right now. I’m afraid I’ll have to schedule you for another day. I’ll have my secretary set you up with another appointment. Shall we say… next Halloween?”

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When Death Has A Bad Day

“Please, just give me a little more time” the guy asked. “Alright” I said, “but no later than Twelve O’clock.” It is now half past midnight. So, where is he? Late, as usual. How just like a corpse. Try to be a nice guy, and you get burned. And now I’ll have hell to pay!

A Dear Death Experience

Memo to the collections department. Attention Grim Reaper.

It has recently been brought to my attention—a little bird told me, I believe it was a Raven— that someone has been falling down on their job lately. Care to venture a guess who that might be?

Inasmuch as your job description simply states “Death” I want you to know there’s a little bit more to it than that.

We have a little system of checks and balances around here. After all—we’re the after-life and I believe that’s your department.

For instance: People die—then you go get em. Now what could be simpler than that, right?

Statistics suggested deaths were up last year, yet souls were down. And healthcare cost were on the rise, but souls were not and therein, I believe, lies the crux of our problem.

Now I don’t like to complain, however you have and have been doing quite a lot of it of late. Or so I’ve been told.

What is all this wailing I’ve been hearing about, about you feeling that you have a dead-end job?

May I remind you sir that when the position first became available you leaped at the opportunity, “Finally, a chance to travel and see the world!” I believe you said.

Now I’m hearing that you feel the health benefits package I provided for you actually sucks. You get to live forever, and have buku power, so what more could you possibly want?

And another thing: What’s all this talk about retirement?

Didn’t I explain to you at the outset that the job entailed a demanding schedule of 24/7 at 365 days a year. People would kill to have your job.

Then there was this business last year where I covered for you so that you could have a few days off in Vegas. Your behavior at the “Hard Rock Cafe” was unseemly at best.

There were those photos of you at the pool wearing nothing more than a pair of sunglasses, and red polka dotted white swimming trunks! For god sakes man, what were you thinking? Sorry, but I just don’t think you have the body for that and definitely not under the hot Las Vegas sun—and in the dead of August no less!

Talk about getting burned. People were saying you looked like death warmed over, and still you were trying to be the life of the party.

Then there’s this recent obsession over peanut butter?

Ever since that movie about you, you’ve had this unhealthy obsession with consuming PB&J’s. Don’t you know that eating that much peanut butter can kill you? I don’t care how much you wanna be like Brad Pitt, peanut butter is not the answer son.

Have you gone all Hollywood on me or what?

Have you forgot the time that you begged me to let you star in that Ingmar Bergman film “The 7th Seal” just so you could go play chess with your idol, Max Von Sydow, while lounging about on a beach.

Sure, I said go ahead go do it if it makes you happy, but I didn’t expect you to go join actors equity afterwards either!

Listen, you’re the “Angel of Death” a sentient-being, start acting like it and do your job. You’ve been absolutely awful at it ever since you started carrying around that silly looking scythe.

And if you must carry it about, then at least try not to let it look like some sort of security blanket, okay? Creates a bad image, like you have no confidence in what you do.

Come on now, this job is what you make it. Take a walk among the tombstones—things will look up. Lets lay this whole thing to rest shall we?

Remember, April’s just around the corner, and you know how well you and taxes go together. So buck up and stop your whining.

Sincerely: The Big Guy