No! Don’t take me! I haven’t even lived! I’ll put up a fight!
Humph. Well if you want the story to die, why don’t you kill it?
Smart ass.
You invited me. Silly King.
King: Cut me a break! You’re one scary looking son-of-a-gun. Let’s get right to it. Why Michael and why so close to a major holiday?
Grim Reaper: You’re kidding, right? I don’t select my victims. It’s not up to me to decide! I’m so misunderstood and really a nice dead-spirit-guy. I’m tired of being portrayed or thought of in a dark light. You know, as some kind of meanie. I’m not a monster! But, it had to be this way. Fire couldn’t kill him. Mob of angry parents? Not a chance. Another nose operation? Maybe. Hmm… It would make sense.
King: So it’s not up to you to decide. Are you saying Judge Judy is your boss?
Reaper: Do you ever hear what anyone says? Are the questions in your head banging around so loudly it makes listening impossible? No! Judge Judy?! NO! When did I say I had a boss? Life is a crap shoot. Now can we move on? I must return to sucking the life out of celebrities, Charlie’s Angels style.
King: Uuuuh, most of my questions just went poof. Oddly enough, Farrah Fawcett passed earlier the same day. How can you knock Charlie’s Angels when folks like me are still grieving? *And when will I die?
Reaper: Who wouldn’t want to knock them - boots? Well, not Kate Jackson. I may be a dead-spirit-guy but I’ve got bones. Uh, sorry! It’s tough, this business of taking lives. It gets to me. Anyway, Farrah left after the first season. Heart wrenching. You know gorgeous actresses, when they realize the whole world knows of their beauty they try to act all smart and shit, taking on ‘serious’ roles. *And I sure wish I could tell you when you’ll be eliminated but I don’t get much of a notice. Damn it. Damn it all.
King: Ditto on Kate. I’ve always wondered how she got the gig.
Reaper: Well as far as her acting… Right, it’s a mystery that shall remain in the 70’s. Seriously, don’t look it up on wiki. You’ll kill the wonderment. And that’s all beside the point. I would’ve preferred striking down someone else’s buttocks. Madonna? She hasn’t put out anything worthwhile in ten years, said Guy Ritchie. See? I’m really a caring individual. Now do you want to discuss the works of Bea Arthur? Dom DeLuise? David Carradine? Billy Fucking Mays, bitches? Like it or not he could get our attention. How we responded was a personal choice. More like a lifestyle, really.
King: I can see you’re no social butterfly. Let’s get back to the topic everyone in the free world and China wants us to discuss. Tell us more about Michael Jackson and everyone he ever knew in his lifetime.
Reaper: Have you turned on the news lately?! What more could I possibly add? Why can’t this story die already?
King: Hey, I’m supposed to be asking the questions.
Reaper: Then do it better.
Humph. Well if you want the story to die, why don’t you kill it?
Smart ass.
