Life has nothing left for him, if all he's doing is 'staring glassy-eyed' towards a coffin at a future date. I wonder that he can eat food at all, since he might choke on a bone or a stick of celery. He should throw out all sharp implements, since they can cut flesh. Wear long sleeves and hats all the time; you never know when the UV's gonna give you cancer--while he's at it, don't pump your own gas, since breathing the fumes can do the same. In fact, you can still die driving, or bicycling, or walking for chrissake, so don't leave the house. Oh, no! How will he make a living, if he can't get to work?
What a sorry excuse for a mortal being. He needs to eat a gun or something, because he hates living.
What a sorry excuse for a mortal being. He needs to eat a gun or something, because he hates living.
