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featuring special Guest Writer, THE GRIM REAPER!

Hi. You've probably heard of me, but we haven't met…yet. My name's pretty unimportant. I'm known mainly for what I do.

See, I'm a Reaper. Yep, it's an actual word, has to do with cutting grain, which is what this big, sharp scythe is usually used for. But I don't use my scythe to cut wheat, that's for sure…it's a metaphor for me taking your soul. I mow each and every one of you humans down at some point, when the time for your death has come. You could almost say that I reap what YOU sow.

I'm pretty scary looking, what with my skeletal face and long, tattered robe (not unlike that wannabe killer from the Scream movies, though my face is nowhere near as cartoony). But let's face it: I don't really need to dress scary to scare the crap out of any person on the planet. If you see me, you're going to die, and isn't that about the scariest thing out there?

Now that my bony fingers finally have reliable internet access (let me just say once that I will be visiting the offices of Juno soon), I'm shocked to find out that there are actually conspiracy yahoos who think that the Men in Black (who visit knuckleheads who claim to have seen UFOs) are the same alien…THING…that I am! The theory goes that Europeans who saw hooded figures carrying scythes during the Dark Ages were actually seeing black-clad aliens who were carrying weapons used to spread the bubonic plague, killing millions. Sure, I was there, but it was the EFFECT of the plague, not the CAUSE of it! Sheesh!

If you've really got to know where I got my look, the whole "reaper" thing was kinda ripped off of the scythe/"reaper" thing from Saturn, the ancient Roman god of Time. But that New Year's Eve hack, Father Time, is just as guilty of that as I am, so I don't want to hear any crap about "unoriginality." But the ratty black robe? The skull for a face? Those were mine, and I've influenced everything from comic-book villains to Iron Maiden album covers with that innovation!

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A few last things: Goths embarrass me. The worst way to die that I've witnessed was probably Harry Houdini's…he dared a kid to punch him, and the kid did before the magician was ready, bursting the his appendix. And whenever you see two sets of footprints in the sand, it means I'm following you.