posted on May, 20 2015 @ 02:43 AM
There's no possible way man. I don't know what's actually happening here... Wait... Did she drug me? Did that lying wench put something in my
drink? Oh man, that has to be it. Oh... Oh... There is going to be absolute HELL to pay when this garbage wears off. I swear I'll kill her. And as
for you - SHUT UP! You don't exist and I don't have time for your BS..."
Page 152 of the handbook says that we should be patient, that each individual "processes" these things in their own way and on their own terms. But
I honestly have to say that, with people like this, it would make my world a much better place if they "processed" more quietly. In fact, in this
case, I would be much more content if this jerk didn't have to "process" at all. Some don't you - need to process that is. Some simply seem to
grasp and understand it. But not old Hoss here. "Old Hoss" being a Mr James Vincent Milligan, formerly of 2761 Ivy Terrace, Mt Clemens Iowa.
The ironic part is that the twit had a massive coronary during his nightly war with his wife. Married for over twenty years and the ritual never
failed to transpire. At least not on the nights he was home - which, thankfully for the now widowed Mrs Milligan - was only about half the time.
Given the nature of things and since he is still "processing" loudly and with an abundance of profanity, I think maybe we should give him his space
and take some time to talk. It will do us all some good - particularly me. So, for those of you here with the rare gift of being able to hear Mr
Milligan and his livid last diatribe, might I suggest a skill that I learned eons ago. A magical and deeply transcendental ability that allows one to
engage in such moments without becoming overly emotionally stressed or attached.
By now you are probably putting two and two together - or as together as you can with the information that you possess - and have figured out that I
am what you might call The Grim Reaper or the Angel of Death. Those seem to be the two terms that get used most often in this day and age. If so, you
are correct in concept, but wrong in the specifics. The entire scythe bearing skeleton wearing a raggedy, hooded cloak? Yeah - some artist in the dark
ages got a bit carried away and came up with that one. His little moment of imagination still haunts me and my associates.
That is correct. Associates. As in "more than one". In fact there are so many that I honestly could not provide you with any sort of guess as to the
actual number. Think of us like a fast food chain. We're all basically interchangeable and the same, but there is one of us in every neighborhood on
Earth. Oh, and we are not called Reapers, nor Angels of Death or any other term that your species has come across. We are not even Angels. We are
human souls that have yet to be born, or who were already born and died long ago... it gets fuzzy and we often disagree as to which applies. The
proper term to describe us is "Dimensional Transition Facilitators". I refer to myself as "The poor shmuck who has to tell people they just died
and then wait while they freak out until they finally cave in and get quiet enough for me to send them on to what's next".
Oh, and don't bother asking me the obvious question about what is next. I haven't the slightest clue. If there is a "next" I've never been there.
Hold on a second, duty calls...
Mr Milligan... Mr Milligan.. James... HEY JIM! Look man, you can't hang yourself. You're already dead. So please take the belt from around your
neck and put it back on your pants where it belongs. And when I say "please" I truly mean "please" because, frankly, with a beer gut like that you
should really have spent more time buying pants that were not that baggy. Jim... Seriously. Squeeze all you want. I'll even jump in and yank as hard
as I can if it will convince you that you cannot hang yourself. You good? You catching on yet? Any of it coming back? Middle of calling your wife a
worthless piece of trash, sharp pain, drop to the floor... any of this ringing any bells? OK... OK... you sit there and think about it. I'll be right
Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yeah. As I was saying, if you think I can give you the inside skinny on anything beyond the fact that I, or someone
like me will show up when you die? Sorry to disappoint but we simply do not know. God works in mysterious ways and all. Or so you people say at
Changing topics... Between you and me I am actually pretty shocked that this guy is having such a hard time grasping this concept. He drank more than
a case of beer a day for decades. He ate pork like there was a pig shortage. The last time he had a salad he was wearing a neon "Frankie Say" shirt,
had a mullet and Duran Duran was playing in the background. I just don't see how this is such a shocker for him.
Meh. I shouldn't be surprised. Actually I should be thankful that he's at least "processing". You know, when I showed up to facilitate Socrates I
ended up wasting fourteen years - of your time - debating with him that he was dead and that he ever existed. That bastard has a counter argument for
everything and half of it was enough to make Descartes flinch.
By way of comparison, Descartes was rather happy and eager about it all. I could not finish my mandatory checklist fast enough for him. Whisp -
through the next door he went.
What's it like to be one of us? I hate when you people ask that question. Look. We don't sleep. We don't eat. We don't have hobbies or interests.
We do this, all day, every day, for what you would refer to as eternity. The ONLY blessing to it all is that we exist outside of time and, therefore,
have no awareness of it's passage. I suppose it's the only way we can keep up with the demands of the job. Billions of you and, even with our
numbers, my plate is always full. There is always a next appointment the instant that I finish up the paperwork from my current assignment. Group
transitions are not uncommon even. Particularly when an accident or your species stupidy causes a lot of people to find themselves dead all at the
same time and in the same place. The handbook is very clear out the whole thing. Round 'em up, let them help each other "process" and then shuffle
them on as politely as possible.
Groups tend to go easier anyway. I suppose it's the whole "not alone" thing. It's kind of rare for anyone in a group to have a Mr Milligan type
breakdown. Even when one does, it actually helps the rest of the group as they tend to get caught up in watching the spaz and their "processing"
happens organically and on a subconscious level.
Well, except for war zones. If I had a nickel for every dead war zone guy who saw me and then spent the next minute or two ( contextually speaking )
trying to shoot me... Well I'd be a non-human ethereal entity with a lot of nickels. There was this one time a guy threw a grenade at me and I got in
a LOT of trouble because I could not resist the urge to catch it and throw it back. This resulted in, as far as I know, the transitional dimensions
first and only came of hot potato.
Yeah. That got me sentenced to a very long period of only transitioning Jihadists. Imagine all the fun and joy of explaining that there are no damned
virgins here, over and over again. All day, every day. That was a rough gig and more than enough to teach me to follow the handbooks rules about being