Death rides the carosel.

The maintenance guy in the building I work in said he was talking with somebody who works in one of the upper offices about me. He couldn't remember my name, and the other person described me as the "nice, sweet girl with the fresh face." I pretended to be flattered by that, but all I could think about was "didn't they notice my guns?"

Death on the trampoline.

Death calls his mom.

Tonight I saw a friend of mine that lived in Las Vegas for a while. He described himself as a "Tsunami of Lovely" and told me Jerry Seinfeld was a jerk. Apparently he stiffed him. Then he started the rumor that Jerry was gay, and he told Tori Braxton.

Death applies the sunscreen.

Death goes mini golfing.