Lighten Up, Meatbags!
- Gael MacLean
- May 4
- 4 min read
We ain’t nothing but worm food
Leo wasn’t just an aberration; he was a middle finger to the universe’s cosmic joke. In a world where people clung to life like it was the last roll of toilet paper in a pandemic, Leo embraced death like it was free beer at a frat party.
As an undertaker with a tongue sharper than his embalming tools, Leo had seen enough death to last several lifetimes. It was during a particularly dreary funeral — complete with fake tears and insincere eulogies — that Leo decided he’d had enough of the charade. Armed with nothing but his mordant wit and a smartphone, he launched “The Daily Death,” a vlog that would soon become a viral sensation, much like the plague but with better SEO.
“Welcome to ‘The Daily Death,’ where we put the ‘fun’ in funeral and the ‘laughter’ in slaughter,” Leo would begin each episode—eyes gleaming with mischief. “Today’s topic — Cryonics — Because nothing says ‘I’m afraid of death’ quite like becoming a human Popsicle.
🍸 Pro tip: Add some vodka to your bloodstream before freezing. At least then you’ll be a fun cocktail at the end of the world.”
Leo’s irreverent take on mortality struck a chord with millions, catapulting him into a bizarre kind of stardom. Suddenly, the man who spent his days with the dead was very much in demand among the living. He took the “Daily Death” show on the road.
His newfound fame brought him face-to-face with the crème de la crème of death-denying nutjobs. At a high-profile tech conference, a billionaire investing in cryonics met Leo’s sarcasm with a steely gaze. “Death is a disease, and like all diseases, it has a cure,” he pompously declared.
Leo snickered, “Right, and I’m just one lab accident away from being Batman. Tell me, Capsicle, does your cryopod come with a reality check, or is that sold separately?”
The billionaire’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. Much like the corpses Leo was accustomed to. Before security could escort him out, Leo quipped, “Don’t forget to freeze your ego too. It’s clearly your most prized possession!”
Next on Leo’s morbid comedy to die for tour was a new-age retreat center, where he encountered a spiritual guru draped in enough saffron to season a small country’s worth of curry. “Death is but an illusion,” the guru proclaimed, waving his arms like a drunken air traffic controller.
Leo shot back, “Funny, your enlightenment seems about as real as your hair transplant, Swami Sham-ananda. At least death doesn’t need a GoFundMe to keep up appearances.”
The guru’s disciples gasped in horror, but Leo wasn’t done. “Tell me, oh wise one, if death is an illusion, why does your ashram have a cemetery? Is it just a really committed piece of performance art?”
As Leo’s notoriety grew, so did the audacity of his stunts. The pièce de résistance of his comedy to die for tour was his live broadcast at a longevity conference. He staged a mock funeral so deranged, it made Beetlejuice’s wedding look like a Quaker meeting and had morticians reaching for their anxiety meds.
Lying in an open casket, surrounded by a sea of confused conference-goers, Leo suddenly sat up, megaphone in hand. “Here lies Leo, a man who laughed in the face of death, only to find death had the last laugh. But joke’s on you, Mr. Death — I’ve been dead inside longer than Keith Richards has been alive!”
The stunt went viral, cementing Leo’s status as the TikTok’s favorite death-defying comedian. As the years passed, a subtle shift occurred in Leo’s approach. His humor, while still biting, took on a more reflective tone.
In what would become his final vlog, an older, more contemplative (and somehow even more cynical) Leo mused, “We’ve journeyed through the macabre and the absurd—like a Dali painting come to life—but with more corpses. So listen up, future corpses! Accepting death doesn’t mean you stop living — it means you can finally cancel that gym membership, binge on bacon, and tell your boss to shove that promotion up his formaldehyde-ready ass.”
A flicker of vulnerability crossing his face, Leo lets out a long sigh. “You know, I started this whole thing because I was sick of the lies we tell ourselves about death. But here’s the kicker. In laughing at death, I think I’ve learned to appreciate life more than all those carrot-munching, yoga-twisting immortality seekers combined.”
Leo’s voice softening—just a touch. “In a world that desperately clings to life like a cat to a curtain, maybe my message was a refreshing slap in the face with a cold, dead fish. ‘Lighten Up, Meatbags! We Ain’t Nothing But Worm Food’ ain’t just a slogan—it’s both middle fingers to the Grim Reaper and a bear hug to the inevitable.”
As the camera kept rolling, Leo reached for something off-screen. To the shock of his millions of viewers, he pulled out a brochure for an experimental cancer treatment. “Plot twist, my loyal cadavers-to-be. Turns out, the Grim Reaper’s been knocking on my door. But don’t worry, I’m not going down without a fight — or at least a really good punchline.”
He grinned, the old spark returning to his eyes. “Next time you’re tempted to buy that overpriced anti-aging cream or consider a diet of nothing but kale and broken dreams, don’t forget — in the end, we all clock out with no more than we came in with. Except maybe a few extra pounds and a lifetime of regrets. But hey, at least those regrets are calorie-free!”
Leo raised an imaginary glass to the camera. “So here’s to enjoying the ride, my fellow meat puppets. And who knows? Maybe death will buy us a drink when we get there. After all, I hear he’s a big fan of my work.”
“🥂 Cheers to the great equalizer, you bony bastard! This is Leo, signing off… for now.”
The screen went black, leaving millions of viewers laughing in their beers, determined to live life to the fullest — if only to have better material for their eulogies.
Image ©2025 Gael MacLean
