death
an excuse to get out of work
death
death
the cure for life
death
1. A horrible disease that's almost as bad a pregnancy. Symptoms include not living anymore, your body decaying, all of your money and possessions being given to relatives you may or may not know, and your body being put underground forever or being set on fire.
2. Like sleep, only more permanent.
3. Sleep's cousin.
2. Like sleep, only more permanent.
3. Sleep's cousin.
1. Joe got hit by a bus and caught death.
2. Mom: O, Jimmy, grandma isn;t sleeping, she's dead!
Jimmy: Nooooooo!
3. Sleep: Hi, Death!
Death: Yo wusup?
Sleep: Want to come over? I have some Tim Burton movies u might like.
Death: SWEET! K I'll b ther in an hour.
Sleep: K.
2. Mom: O, Jimmy, grandma isn;t sleeping, she's dead!
Jimmy: Nooooooo!
3. Sleep: Hi, Death!
Death: Yo wusup?
Sleep: Want to come over? I have some Tim Burton movies u might like.
Death: SWEET! K I'll b ther in an hour.
Sleep: K.
death
noun;
the sweet release from this painful and utterly pointless life
the sweet release from this painful and utterly pointless life
She can't wait for death to release her from this painful and utterly pointless life.
death
The only guaranteed part of life.
Death is just a part of life.
death
the frist class ticket out of reality.
your only freedom after marrige
death
some call it the end, some call it the beginning.
1. I call it the time of my life when I am settled firmly in the ground, rotting and beginning to smell and occupying space that will inevitibly violated by desperate citizens of the future world who, fearful of the diminishing land mass of their landfills, unearth my shrunken corpse of bones and worms and hastily send me to a creamatorium. There, and only there will I be able to reak havoc on those retched, materialistic bastards by unleashing my virulent, miniscule dust cells into their children's sleeping nasal cavities.
2. Or, you could call it the end of life.
1. I call it the time of my life when I am settled firmly in the ground, rotting and beginning to smell and occupying space that will inevitibly violated by desperate citizens of the future world who, fearful of the diminishing land mass of their landfills, unearth my shrunken corpse of bones and worms and hastily send me to a creamatorium. There, and only there will I be able to reak havoc on those retched, materialistic bastards by unleashing my virulent, miniscule dust cells into their children's sleeping nasal cavities.
2. Or, you could call it the end of life.
Death Death Death Death Death Death Death Death