You think your job sucks? Imagine clocking in every day for eternity, waiting for people to die… and they just won’t.
The Reaper slumped over the bar, staring into his whiskey.
“Man, ever since they started banning cigarettes and making people eat kale, business has been slow.”
The bartender, a transparent ghost in a dusty vest, wiped down the counter.
“Yeah, Death, I get it. But look on the bright side—”
“DON’T say it,” the Reaper groaned, slamming his skeletal hand on the bar.
“…at least you’ll always have job security?”
A heavy silence fell.
Then, slowly, the Grim Reaper reached for his scythe.
The bartender evaporated before he even finished his laugh.
