[ WP ] you 're a comedian who has avoided death by telling the Grim Reaper jokes . You 've just deeply offended him with your most recent joke .

`` Shots for everyone!'' I left my mouth hanging there, hoping to get a glib remark about the offensive nature of my jokes and that I was free to go. 
 
 
 But he only sat at the back. Staring. His pristine business jacket remained immaculate. The tie holder was still attached. The black was n't stained with beer. 
 
 
 I started sweating. 
 
 
 As the other patrons left the bar during the intermission, Death approached the stage. A rather striking man, I would have considered him handsome. If he was n't trying to actively collect me for Death. 
 
 
 `` That was a rather good set Mr. Malloy. Lots of applause and hearty laughter.'' He spoke with a soft voice. Eyeing the man in the back, I noticed that the bar owner was crossing his hands. 
 
 
 I umm'ed my way through a bit of quibbling, trying to decide whether to resign myself to the grave or whether to grovel. 
 
 
 `` You have one more set, according to one John Baker.'' Straightening his tie, he continued with his soft voice. `` Mr. Baker expected a larger crowd.'' 
 
 
 The beads of sweat dripped down my face. John Baker still held his gaze at me, with folded arms. I tried to squeeze out a glib remark. 
 
 
 `` It's such a shame. Thirty two years of age, succumbing to a rare form of tuberculosis. Nearly as old as Jesus.'' 
 
 
 A worried smile crossed my face. `` Well, had to beat Jesus at *something*.'' 
 
 
 Nodding, Death straightened his tie again. `` I will be seeing you soon, Mr. Malloy.'' 
 
 
 Walking away, he handed a card to John Baker at the back as he walked out. The bar seemed very, very small suddenly. The intermission was over, as drunken louts came back to their seats. Loaded with beer, wine and whatever was cheap, they geared up for a hell of a performance. 
 
 
 The rest of the set bombed. 
 
 
 When the set was done, short of being thrown out, I hunched my shoulders against the cold winter night. Leaving through the side door, I hustled my way to the alley trying to avoid the crowd. *Terrific*, I thought to myself. *Death comes for those who die from a bad joke. * 
 
 
 Making my way onto the main street, I realized I had no money to catch the bus. It was a three mile walk, at least an hour away. I was tired, cold and most importantly, scared. My coat was too thin, my jokes were too bad and time was too short. 
 
 
 `` Speaking of the Devil, there you are.'' Death said, rather surprised. `` Are you ready to come along?'' 
 
 
 He gestured to the middle of the road, as if to make a point. The pits of his eyes turned jet black, the whites of his eyes being swallowed into nothing. 
 
 
 `` How about a knock knock joke?'' I muttered. 
 
 
 Death tilted his head, shaking. 
 
 
 `` How about this?'' I glanced up. `` Why did the chicken cross the road?'' 
 
 
 Death squinted what was left of his eyes. 
 
 
 `` You would know, you talked to him last.'' 
 
 

