“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” says the busy-body. And sleep you shall, my friend! You’ll sleep away eternity as worms feast upon your brain, time feasts upon your memory, and the totality of existence feasts upon not really giving all that much of a shit about you.
“How are things?”
“Busy is good,” they say, the shadow of inexorable death lurking over their shoulders, rubbing an hour glass like a pervert in the parking lot of a gymnastics studio rubs his erection.
“Yes, busy is good!”
Busy trading minutes, hours, days, years of their lives for paychecks and half-conceived goals. Busy aiming, busy ignoring. A five year plan hangs on their wall, looking an awful lot like an hour glass, and none of their goals read “reconcile death, discover internal peace.”
The soul is eternal, yes, because nothingness is eternal. Your soul is nothingness, your identifying trait, your core essence, the pitch black emptiness from which you were spawned, to which you will return, which lives within you even now. Waiting. Anyway, this was a comic about a couple of guys who forgot where a body was at a funeral. Hope you enjoyed!