Dead Like Me: Life After Death

Let me tell you a story.

A story of life and death.

My death.

But before we go there, we need to

go back to a time where it all started,

when God was getting busy

with the creation of the universe,

where there was only cosmic goo.

God's Play-Doh,

if you will.

While God was messing with this

Play-Doh, creating all living things,

he put death into

a ceramic jar for safekeeping,

until he could figure out

what to do with it.

One day, God gave the jar

to a frog and a toad

to guard it from harm while he went

off to create something more fantastic.

Why he gave it to a frog

and a toad, I'll never know.

But one thing led to another.

The jar shattered,

letting death out.

And ever since,

everything has to die.

So there you have it.

The mystery of death finally revealed.

Which brings us to my story.

Everybody dies.

That's just the way it is.

The life clock ticks at

the same speed for everyone.

And we all know that

one day that clock will stop.

And when it does,

we're only going to have time to say...

I'm told I'm not supposed

to argue or question,

or even try to understand.

I'm told it a lot these days,

ever since my life was snuffed out

by a toilet seat from an old space station,

and I joined the ranks of the undead

and became a grim reaper.

This is Rube. He's our boss.

He keeps us reapers in line.

Every morning we meet Rube at

a restaurant called Der Waffle Haus,

where he would review the list which

has who's to die, when and where,

which he writes out on a Post-it

and then passes on

to all the grim reapers.

Rube says that you don't

mess around with fate, peanut.

People die when they are meant to die.

You cannot intervene in any way.

When life is done, it's done.

We, the undead, are meant to exist

on the fringe of the living world.

We can move freely

among the living to do our job.

My name is George Lass.

I've been dead for five years.

I take souls for a living.

My division is External Influence.

Translation:
murders,

natural disasters, accidents, et cetera.

And I do mean et cetera.

Hi, yes, Professor Gregor?

This is Mr. Fielding from

the Arthur Barrisford Foundation.

I am thrilled to announce to you

that you have finally

been named the recipient

of our $500,000 genius grant.

That ugly guy?

He's a graveling.

They set things in motion.

And once things start moving,

look out below.

The sun rises, the sun sets.

Life comes, and for a

once successful inventor

who's down on his luck, life goes.

Welcome to the afterlife, Mr. Gregor.

Sorry about the last-minute reaping,

but we don't normally do suicides,

so I wasn't sure you were

our man till the last second.

I don't care.

I won. I finally won.

Yes, you did, the jackpot.

Now, into your lights.

You know, I thought it would

hurt more, but it didn't. Not at all.

Well, that's 'cause

I took your soul before you died.

Oh! Well, thank you

very much, Miss, uh...

Lass, but you can call me George.

Am I gonna see you again

where I'm going towards?

Eventually.

When I get my lights.

I don't know when.

Death is full of surprises, huh?

You have no idea.

I love morning reaps,

accomplishing so much

when everyone else is still in bed,

and I still have the whole day ahead of me.

Reapers are assigned an unspecified

allotment of souls to collect.

You don't know how many souls

until you've nabbed the last one,

and then you move on.

Moving on, much like death,

has its own timetable.

You don't know when

it's going to happen until it happens.

And today, fate is telling

our band of merry grim reapers

to move on from Der Waffle Haus.

- Smells like bacon.

- Looks like arson.

Where the hell

is Rube? I need my coffee.

People, this is hallowed ground.

Show some respect.

I'm showing respect.

Auf wiedersehen, Der Waffle Haus.

Fond farewell

to a shitty little restaurant.

Which didn't extend me

any more credit, so f*** you.

Did you have something to do

with this fire, you limey bastard?

First of all, I don't need

to answer that, 'cause I...

How about I just make it

so every time you kneel

in front of a glory hole,

you think of me?

I already do!

He didn't do it, Roxy.

He's not that smart.

Thanks, George.

Excuse me!

I'm here to pick up Daisy...

Uses sex to get her way.

...Roxy...

She could kick your ass.

...Mason...

Ah, Mason, Mason, Mason.

...and George.

They call me "toilet seat girl."

Yes. That's right.

Wait! He's supposed

to open the door for us.

Oh, my bad.

I didn't go to prom.

Thank you.

Ooh, snacky snacks.

In the space-time continuum,

everything changes.

- Whoo!

- Change can be slow.

Show me your tits!

Whoa!

Change can be fast.

Change can be welcomed or feared,

or it can come to you in a black limo

and take you to a fancy restaurant.

One thing you can

count on is change.

No. Look,

I told you already, no.

No means no.

I'm not gonna change

my mind. Oh, one second.

Ah, there you all are.

Welcome. Please, have a seat.

Daisy.

Died on the set of

Gone with the Wind, 1939.

- Mason.

- What?

Drilled a hole in your head, 1966.

Roxy, strangled with a legwarmer in 1982.

And George,

killed by a toilet seat

from outer space in 2003.

Better off dead

Better off dead

Oh. Excuse me.

Um...

Okay, not to be all, "What the f***?"

about this, but...

What the f***?

Look, uh, our workload

is going to increase,

and we need better ways

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