The Grim Reaper in My Life (Intro)

The Grim Reaper
In
My Life


To begin with, I kid you not about The Grim Reaper In My Life. Although I have to consider that many of you will view my claim (title) as balderdash, while others might use a more prosaic term as bullshit. And some of you might even have the unmitigated gall or (worse yet) the unabridged balls to say that I am bonkers. But I care not about slanderous terms from non-believers.

Then again, what can hinder my assertion, just as bad, is my profession as a fiction writer. Yep, that alone can stand against me in any tribunal, especially in a court judging crap. And I know I would never stand a chance in one if the jury is stacked with members of The Writers Guild. They would surely enjoy their positions there, if only to screw me for failure to pay dues during the last three months. The Wretched Goblins!

Unfortunately for me, though, an additional strike will mount against me, as another liability. That is, many more of you and those already alluded to are sure to reprove me over my employment at The Busybody Bullshit News Syndicate (The BBNS). And I am sure to be accused of being a seedy sniffer and sifter of dirty drawers for dinero, just like The Paparazzi Peepers. Well, I am not the sort. I keep it clean and respectable seeing as I care not for any kind of fungus, mungus, hungus on my hands, hooter (nose), and habiliment (threads).

On the other hand, though, you should know that I crave to report all human interest stories which pique my curiosity. Someone has to do it, and I receive terrific tips from The Black and Blue Vine. Think not of The Grapevine. It is sour, and it sucks. And adding to my defense, I gig only part-time at The BBSN to earn extra cash for my booze bin and exotic goodies--no drugs, mind you. Only that I do indulge in Martian Marijuana for eyeball efficiency, and that is medicinal. for the most part (?).

Now then, with all told on this matter, I stand by my caption as true. After all, I am a conscientious correspondent, for the most part (?), and I tell you no larcenous lies. And, given to my conviction, I can only ask that you judge the veracity of my account by reading on. Only so will you learn how The Grim Reaper, aka The Hooded Horror, appeared here, there, and everywhere throughout my cognitive days of yore. I got dogged thoroughly, and I struggled, mightily, to keep The Grim Reaper at bay, for the most part, then.

As for today and after the facts, The Grim Reaper in My Life is but a song and dance in its entirety. And, that being the case, I leave it up to you, from here, to continue or not.

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Alcides, The-Fly-On-The-Wall Writer

Word Count: 486