Perry Block stumbled out of bed and made his way into the bathroom.
Everything was getting so out of hand, he thought!
He'd put on his slippers and robe to head to the bathroom and now everything was indeed out of his hands and on his body.
It was exactly 4:00 A.M Thursday morning. Lingering for a moment in the bathroom, Perry paused to take a long hard look in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw!
There was a smudge on the mirror's lower left-hand corner. He took a towel and wiped it off.
Perry sat on the corner of the bed and thought of Angelique. He knew she would soon be bidding him "goodbye" and "farewell."
He'd told her he found her habit of saying "adios" extremely annoying, and she'd promised from now on she'd always say either "farewell" or "goodbye" instead.
True, Angelique wasn't pretty. She was gorgeous. And yes, the two of them had gone through some serious sexual problems together. But now that Angelique had gotten used to having fantastic sex with Perry 6 or 7 times a night, those problems had faded away.
Perry's professional life had lately been fraught with emotional strife, gut-wrenching conflict, and a couple of horrific major disasters!
As a top Hollywood producer, his pictures covered a wide range of genres indeed, all of which had earned him millions of dollars. In the last year alone his two disaster movies, Pee Wee's Big Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Wendy's, had been especially profitable.
The phone rang. Perry picked up the receiver.
"Yes, that's me."
"This is Death."
Anguish. Despondency. Hopelessness.
"Perry," whimpered Death, "I am in anguish! BTW, I'm despondent and hopeless too."
"Why's that, Death?"
"Because you've beaten me! You'll never die."
"You've got to get a hold of yourself, Death!" said Perry. "It isn't as if somebody didn't die. Except me."
"Perry, would you --- kind of --- take me under your wing?"
Perry penciled Death in for a half hour appointment a week from Friday, right before he was scheduled to go snorkeling with Scarlett Johansson, and hung up.
On the other end of the phone, Death felt reassured that he'd soon be seeing Perry Block.
At long last, his bitter despair began to lift.
Oh, dear. Oh, my. Goodness gracious. Perry has a problem. Death has a problem. Will there be a sequel? Perry must take a holiday.
I don't think there will be a sequel, kd, because I just couldn't handle the despair and despondency of snorkeling with Scarlett Johansson or continuing to make all those millions.
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