Speaking of eating, Death, I’ve been meaning to ask you: Why do certain people (you know, the kind that tend to hang around in the Barbecue Pit) feel a need to scream at other people: “Eat sh*t and die!” Does the one necessarily follow from the other, or is this sequence mere coincidence rather than cause and effect? If forcing one’s victim to devour excrement is in fact efficacious in their demise, are there far more murders committed and gotten away with than we know of?
I figure if anyone knows the answer to this, it’d be you.
Psalex Not to cut in front of death, but what makes you think your cat has any guilt to begain with? I too am a cat owner and I have seen her kill many mice. Not one time has she come anywhere near what I would call “guilt”. Devious joy is closer to the truth.
Silly! It’s because once they are bereft of the animating force, they would be per force rendered incapable of ingesting any excretory substances. Thus to instruct one’s fellow poster to die and eat shit would be, as it were, putting the offal cart before the horse. The instruction to “eat shit and die” is one that involves the speaker’s wish that the target of his vituperation might spend the remaining time of his existence in unhappy circumstances, and then become deceased forthwith.
Oh, and I heard that thong comment. Watch your ass.
That’s a very good question. I know that when I arrive, someone dies. But does anyone ever think about my feelings? It’s always about them. Sure, I’m Death, the Destroyer of Worlds, but what about my needs?
After taking this job, I had a kind of honeymoon period, where nothing go me down. I was eager and full of energy, determined to be the best Death there ever was. I was – dare I say – full of altruism. Doing well by doing good.
But after a while, this job just sucks the life out of you. (No pun intended.) After your first thousand assignments, it’s just another job. I’ve tried to keep fresh. I’ve watched inspirational videos. I’ve made sure I’m eating right. And I’ve tried to take the edge off of death for my customers. Sometimes I bring balloons. Sometimes I sing the death sentence, putting clever words to popular songs. “Oops, I dead it again.” Sadly, I find that few people appreciate the little touches that I add because they’re too caught up in the fact that they’re dying. Well, heck, folks, it’s not always about you, you know.
What do I do to fight the blues? Sometimes I sit in the yard and swat mosquitoes. Nobody complains then. And last week, the guys at work got together and made a little plague – ah, I mean a little plaque that hangs on my wall. “When the going gets tough, the dead stop going.” It’s little things like this that brighten my day.