I do not flirt with Death. She is a married one, despite widowing all the time. I know that if one gets "betrotted" to her, hey man, it's for life!
So, I don't count on her body in my bed, or I'll find myself to be counting bodies till I'll have to look for the smartest bomb and stop it! I'm not smart, nobody ever called me that, but I get the chicks all by myself, and smart bombs, only those ones with the big boobies... I tell them I'm the thoughest of the block and there we go, just the two of us, I do not kick the girlie-boys just because they're not as lucky as I am. You know, it's all in the pelvis.
So, don't count on me to fall into Mrs. Death devices. I don't look back, nor I smile to her. Sooner or later she will come after me, I know, but I don't feel like seeing my mother, or my cousin, or even that chick who switched me for another guy, fall into her arms 'cause it could happen to me and hurts to the bone before you go, only you and her, to the dark room.
Pain is not a marriage for life, and you can even divorce, on mutual consent.
I have no simpathy for the one who revenges better and the question of who began all this, is not my bizz. So, do not dress for Mrs. Death. She is of the marrying kind and you'll get married even before you undress. I told you, pal: she is of the marrying kind and she's widowing all the time, every step of the way. She doesn't need flowers or white frocks to get you caught. 'cause she is never alone. Better stay alone if ain't no chicks around...