When he heard the knock on the door, Steve shouted, "I don't want any."
There was no answer. Just more knocking.
"I gave at the office!" Steve yelled.
Silence. Then, knocking.
"Dumbass," Steve said, going to the door and looking out the peephole. It was too dark to see anything. Or, the dumbass had his finger over the hole. Which sounded dirty but was not. "I said, no one is home."
"Steve Perry," a sepulcheral voice hissed from the other side, "I have come for you."
"Yeah well," Steve said, "if you read any of the message boards, someone comes for me every day. Which sounds dirty because it is dirty. Now fuck off."
"Avon," the voice said.
"I have all the makeup I need already," Steve said.
"Candygram," the voice said.
"You're that land shark, aren't you," Steve said. "SNL has never been funny again, since they stopped doing that skit."
"Plumber," the voice said.
"My plumbing is great. Again, consult the message boards," Steve said. "Do you have anything new?"
"I have come to take you to your Eternal Rest," the voice said.
Steve whipped the door open to find the Grim Reaper standing there with his scythe and everything. "Oh, you again," he said. "You just don't get it, do you. Silly rabbit." He grabbed the stick with the scary blade on it, and proceeded to the kitchen, where he used the scythe to chop veggies.
"Choppin' bro-cco-liiiiiiii," he sang, and somewhere Dana Carvey rolled over in his grave even though he wasn't quite dead yet. "When was the last time you sharpened this thing? Christ."
The Reaper, nonplussed, stood awkwardly in the doorway and pouted. Which went unseen due to the unfashionably large hood. "It's sharp enough to sever you from life!" he said a tad defensively.
"Look," Steve said, absently wiping broccoli juice from the blade before handing it back stick-first, "I admire your tenacity. But you need to accept, deep down in your shrivelly-cold prune heart that I just won't die. Sure, it looks like it a lot, and my insides have been on the outsides a lot. Sometimes I'm even pretty sure I've cashed it in. Didn't you ever see 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail'?"
"Mmm...no," the Reaper said.
"Sad for you," Steve said. "It's like the part in that movie where the guy has a wheelbarrow and he's rolling around saying 'bring out your dead', and this old guy keeps insisting he's not dead? I'm not dead. Not even a little. I'm not even resting. So you need to move on, for your own good. Because I think this is getting really hard on you, which sounds dirty but isn't."
"But - " the Reaper said.
"Go on, now," Steve said. "I'm sure there are possums trying to cross the road somewhere that need you desperately. And Great White fans, because I think they missed a couple. And Journey's career is slowly turning blue. You don't want to miss that."
The Reaper swung his scythe around just a little, wishing it was still intimidating. "Poopies," he said.
"Hasta la pasta," Steve said. "I take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. Which sounds dirty because it is. I'm going to live forever. Neither bus, nor Keeper, nor Ender shall keep me from my appointed rounds. Thanks for stopping by."
The Reaper sighed and shuffled away.
* * *