Death is at our doorstep

Sigh.

 

That's one raccoon that didn't need to be drowned.

 

What ever happened to LifeAfterDooley?

 

That's not what you said when you killed me.

Death is funny that way. When you're mortal, death is absolutely terrifying, especially when you're like me and your end came painfully. His specter scared the ever living fuck out of me.

But once you get to the afterlife, you find out death is just kind of a working class straight-shooter who gets things done. His work ethic is nonpareil. Everyone in the afterlife respects the hell out of Death.

 

Ouch, a subtle burn.

 

Death is a woman!

 

Dooley doesn't have anything to worry about. He's righteous. He'll be here with me when his time comes. Very well thought of in the hereafter.

 

Killer boobies?
Legs to die for?

 

As long as the afterlife is patient regarding my arrival, it's all good.

 

Oh yeah, yeah, I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, Dooley.

I'm omniscent, I know when you all die, but it's against my ethics to "out" that information. It's just another parallel between the afterlife and SJ.

 

Sucks to think that even in the afterlife, souls have little better to do than fuck around on a message board.

So LAD, if you see my grandparents and my dad, tell them hello for me and that I love them. Tell Buck O'Neil that I'm really sorry I never got a chance to meet him. And if you see Bill Wirtz, tell him to fuck off. Of course, since he's likely getting ear-fucked by two demonic hellcats with barbed, iron penises, I doubt he'll hear you over the turgid gurgle of white-hot, molten-lava, feline-hellion jism in his ear canals. But one hopes.

 

Is ther post padding in life after death?