[ 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 .

`` Ah man, it smells like death in here.'' 
 
 That is the phrase that I have lived to regret ever since they fell foolishly from my mouth. I was essentially immortal before that moment in time. I was the best comedian in the world, and apparently better than anyone in the afterlife as well. It was the only reason the Grim Reaper decided not to take me. I could make him laugh, and in his line of work that was a rarity. 
 
 I do n't even remember what it was that I had said when he showed up at my car accident. I can recall him bending down next to my overturned Honda civic and reaching in to pull me out. I made some off the wall comment and he froze, dead in his tracks. It was the weirdest laugh I had ever heard, but one I appreciated more than all of the others combined. 
 
 He let me live, provided that every year on the anniversary of what should have been my death, I would tell him a joke that would make him cry with laughter. I was his own personal jester, and for that he rewarded me handsomely. 
 
 And then on that fateful day, 121 years later, I muttered those stupid words that seized our contract and ripped it in two. Who knew Death would be so self conscious about his smell? And to make things worse, that was n't even the joke that I was going to tell him! The actual joke was a masterpiece, but he would n't give me the chance to tell it. I ran out of that room faster than I'd ever run before. And I've been running ever since. 
 
 I think the reason that he has n't taken me yet is because of our long history together. That is n't to say that he's forgiven me. He seems to enjoy reminding me that he's near. Everyone I get close to dies without reason. I'll see a dog in the park that I think looks adorable and before I can pet it, it'll fall over dead. Roses crumble before I can enjoy their scent and food rots on my fork before I can bring it to my mouth. He's killing everything around me. 
 
 I have discovered that Death is a jester of a different sort. I had provided him with a form of humor that he was n't used to, but he has since grown tired of it, and reverted to his old ways. Now, he once again deals in jokes of cruelty and irony. In a way, I am still fulfilling my part of our old deal. The Reaper still laughs, and he still laughs at me. 
 
 Only now, the difference is I'm not laughing.
