What's the deal on death?

Everybody talks about it like it's the end of the world. Well, it is in a way, but all this boo-hoo-hooing about it just makes it worse. It's such a Debbie Downer.  Don't you just hate that?  I do.

My big beef is with this Grim Reaper guy. Why is he Grim? Why can't it be the Smiling Reaper. After all, he's removing you from all the troubles in the world.  That's worth smiling about.  No more taxes, no more mother-in-law, no more Kardashians, no more neighbor who borrows your lawnmower and never returns it.

And what's with this Reaping thing? Reaping is a good thing. That's when you gather the crops and make Wonder Bread out of it. Of course, the pesticides in those crops and the preservatives in Wonder Bread and related products can accelerate your appointment with the Reaper. So maybe that's the twisted logic behind the the Reaper name.

Then there's that scythe he lugs around. This is a formidable weapon. Very sharp and very dangerous and shaped funny.   And I hear it hurts real bad. What's the point in hurting somebody who's already dead? It doesn't make sense.

What's really intimidating is that big black Halloween type costume he wears. I have trouble with that and I think Al Sharpton should get on his case for being a racist. A black costume suggests that only African Americans send you to the great beyond. Problem is I don't see many African Americans walking around with Scythes.

And the guy has a hoodie. Which makes me think he's somebody who doesn't want to be identified. Which makes me think it could be the part time job of some celebrity like, say, Ben Affleck or Leonardo Di Caprio. Could even be a woman, maybe Hillary Clinton or Sharon Osborne. If it is a woman, my money's on Lady Gaga. That in itself is a reason to put off dying as long as you can.

The smart money is that the Reaper is Congress. They're already killing us so it's only fitting that they send one of their own to complete the job. And if someone identifies him, he goes before the ethics committee or something.

Then there's the funeral and all the crying, hugging, condolence giving and repairing to a bar to get sloshed. Hell, you can do that without kicking the bucket.

And that's the last thing about death. All those terms that define it. Passed on, expired, gone to meet his maker, bit the dust, perished, crossed over, shuffled off his mortal coil (I thought we only Shuffled Off To Buffalo), and the three D's -- deceased, departed, demised. I think a better D word would be Demoted.

One I hate the  most  is "late." Like the late John Doe, or the late Andy Rooney. This is totally incorrect. I'm not going to be late. I'm not showing up.

R.I.P Andy