Death Visits The Therapist

comic about death visits the therapist

Death Visits The Therapist

Okay, I know I'm not the most popular guy around. But, hey, I'm not trying to be. I got a job to do, that's all. You think this is a piece of cake? Well, try it someday. Or preferably, some night. See, that's part of the problem right there. I usually do my best work at night. Try sneaking up on someone during the day looking like me. Don't get me wrong, I get the job done, day or night. But a guy walking around in a black robe with a hood and carrying a six or seven foot scythe is going to be noticed in broad daylight. Now, technically I don't need to surprise someone to whack them, but it's always easier that way. They see you coming, and they start up with the crying and begging. Oh please don't take me now! I'm so young! I still have so much to accompish with my life! Blah, blah, blah. It just gets so tiresome after a while. And I've been doing this for, I don't know, seems like forever. Just once I'd like to hear someone say, oh, I'm so glad to see you. Thanks for coming. Is there anything I can do to make your job a little easier? But no. Always the bitchin' and moanin'. Well, I've just about had it. A few more centuries of this and that's it. I'm going to hang up my scythe for good. Then you human bastards can live forever. That's what you want, right? Oh, I don't want to die! Please, please, don't take me! Okay, fine. That's the way you want it, you got it. I give you ten, maybe twenty years, and there'll be, I don't know, at least twenty, thirty billion of you suckers on this pathetic planet. You'll be crawling all over each other like freakin' cockroaches! And then, you lily-livered losers, you'll really learn the meaning of the word grim.