On Death

Lo, to die. To kill, to maim.
I really like to watch men die.

I hope nobody kills me.
So I can kill them instead.

The end.

One of the joys of top notch taste receptors is getting to enjoy the full flavour without the nasty hangover.

So a ghoul walks into a bar...
Bartender says: "We don't serve any ghouls here."
Ghoul says: "That's fine. Is the human fresh?"

Danse: "Keep away from me, you filthy ghoul."
Hancock: "Don't flatter yourself, crew cut. You ain't my type."

Anything that can kill a man, I sell. Except suicidal depression.That is unfortunately not packageable.