When I die, donate my body to comedy.

I'm going to admit that my biggest fear about death is simply not knowing what will happen next. Not just my funeral and the after party, it's not knowing what will happen to the world in a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years that bugs me, even if it just descends into humanity running around in the woods like savages being hunted down by apes. I guess I just like knowing how a story ends.

Which reminds me, I need to finish reading the Dying Earth series. Better add that to my list.

Anywho, even in the minor 'deaths' we suffer moving from one chapter of life to the next, I would have killed for some Ghost of Job Future to show me the scene going on right now at my old workspace: squatters picking apart and subsequently fencing my old equipment, talking smack about how weird or mumbly I was or that I sat around too high and mighty and stuff. And across the way is poor Tiny Jeremy's spot in the workplace, empty.

But we all knew this was coming eventually, it's just the nature of the field. So in passing, to whomever reloaded my work PC, I've left this comic for you: it's about a crack-addicted squirrel who wants the stuffed bear to remember him when he's gone. I thought it had a nice allegorical quality to it.


Also I am sorry if you got nervous waiting for some kind of dead man's switch to activate and fry the motherboard or cut your fingers off.