I forgot who said that, but being dead is the next best thing to being alive.
I’m excited about this comic because I recognize the train of thought.
And a little bit because I don’t understand the fifth panel.
I’m assuming this means I’m ageless, and Death and his itchy socks will never catch up with me.
At my age, I hear the bones behind me all the time. When we run, he whistles.
The best running socks are wool. They’re also expensive enough that wearing them basically gentrifies your feet.
Naturally, Death asks that question.
From his perspective, they’re racing toward him.
Did Dorothy just turn 50? Happy Birthday! I thought you were younger.
Norsie, are you reading too much into it? Does Death just have high hopes of bring comfortable?