"Back in my day," said the Slender-Death, waving about a Coco Loco in a hairy shell, "they didn't have all those fancy treatments that they do now. It took only a spoonful of bacteria to kill half a continent, and now? Goddamned antibiotics save hundreds of thousands of people each day!" The Slender-Death, the Stocky-Death and the Petite-Death were reclining in blue and white striped loungers by the waveless morning sea. Beside the motley brolly, the Pug-Death was digging a hole in a soon-to-become-hot white sand. Other vacant chairs went on and on, and the lifeguard tower squatted low on piles like a forlorn beehive. The Stocky-Death snorted, turning its hood towards an old lady in a red swim cap, who briskly marched towards the ocean and dived into the water. "Not only that," the Stocky-Death agreed, leaning forward slightly in its chair, "The technology humans got also prevents them from dying unnatural deaths. Floods, fires and avalanches used to be my biggest crops each year. Now? A single text – and I'm left empty-handed!" "I know, right?" cried the Petite-Death. "There just isn't any fun left. Humans invented so much stuff for killing each other – and themselves – and now they just won't! Human sacrifices? Nope. Poison? Nada. Nuclear weapons? Not happening. So much potential, just ruined." It took a freshly dug-out bone from the Pug-Death and threw it aside. The Pug-Death gave a short enthusiastic bark and scurried after the bone. "Well," said the Slender-Death, "Some still make Darwin very proud." It looked at the ocean, where a single fin shimmered on the horizon for a moment and then disappeared. "Remember those two guys that ate a bat half a year ago? Those had me quite occupied lately. I barely had the opportunity to take this break!" "As long as humans keep inventing new ways to die, you're pretty much booked," said the Stocky-Death. "You sure know what they came up with recently? I couldn't believe it when I saw it. They breathe flavoured glycerine! As if smoking alone wasn't enough." "Wait until you hear this. Ever come across the joke about a grandma that lit her vase on fire because she was trying to smoke pot? Well, turns out it was no joke at all. An old lady died of fumes because she was trying to keep pace with the times." The three of them threw back their heads and laughed. Even the Pug-Death gave out a short series of woofs. "Speaking of," finally said the Slender-Death, turning its hood from side to side. "Can't seem to–" It was then that desperate shriek pierced the morning stillness. After a few seconds of splashes and screams, everything was over. "Oh," said the Petite-Death. "I guess that's my call," the Stocky-Death exclaimed cheerfully. The day promised to be hot.