Death is a serious turn off. I mean lets face it, no one is looking forward to decomposing into a pile of dust. And what comes next? Most likely, the Void. I sure as shit don't believe that Jesus is going to show up on his magical motorcycle and escort my ass to a kingdom of clouds filled with beautiful women.
We start off all pink-headed and pure and for the first 40 years or so maturation seems like a great idea. We learn to walk, talk, drive cars, and have sex. Our mothers love us. We grow hair and careers.
Exciting shit!
And so of course we're all, "Give me more! I want to experience everything! What else you got?". Because Life is in full swing, and we're hungry.
Turns out, the what else they got sucks. It's all health issues and regrets, late rent payments and taxes.
Then, without us realizing it, Death sneaks into the party. He's all decked out in his black robes, carrying his cliche scythe and shuffling his dusty bones across the dance floor.
What a dick!
But also sort of hot, if you know what I mean.
So you ask him to dance, and he makes you feel like the only person in the room. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you're nose down in a plot of dirt with worms squiggling all about and maggots celebrating Christmas in the matter that used to be your brain.
Inevitably, Death...goes on the list.
We start off all pink-headed and pure and for the first 40 years or so maturation seems like a great idea. We learn to walk, talk, drive cars, and have sex. Our mothers love us. We grow hair and careers.
Exciting shit!
And so of course we're all, "Give me more! I want to experience everything! What else you got?". Because Life is in full swing, and we're hungry.
Turns out, the what else they got sucks. It's all health issues and regrets, late rent payments and taxes.
Then, without us realizing it, Death sneaks into the party. He's all decked out in his black robes, carrying his cliche scythe and shuffling his dusty bones across the dance floor.
What a dick!
But also sort of hot, if you know what I mean.
So you ask him to dance, and he makes you feel like the only person in the room. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you're nose down in a plot of dirt with worms squiggling all about and maggots celebrating Christmas in the matter that used to be your brain.
Inevitably, Death...goes on the list.
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