iStock_000014041866XSmallDear Death,

I have a big problem. I have a friend who claims he is British. He seems to think it makes him more prestigious. It also allows him to be condescending and a bit of a douche to everyone. It is so bad that he has even hired (very convincing) actor to pretend to be his parents. He even hire a sweet little old lady to pretend to be his grandmother. I am just wondering if you have any esoteric wisdom to impart to me to get this guy to face reality. Even though he is quite a mu &*#$#*@ ing bastard, he does have some redeeming qualities. 

Please help,

Bliss Borris

Dear Bliss,

It appears you have a troubling problem on your hands. While I can’t validate that your friend is actually British…well actually I can because I know for a fact that he is completely and utterly British.  This leads to your bigger problem…your denial and obvious jealously towards British people.  These accusations against your friend is a distinct case of internalizationism (not a real word but being an Angel I’m allowed to make stuff like that up).

Deep down in your soul you yearn to be British.  I expect you often impersonate the British accent, spend your afternoons drinking tea, own underwear with the union jack on it, and watch re-runs of Mr. Bean.  My advice to you is the same thing I told Moses:  Embrace your weirdness!  They say you can’t part an entire sea?  Well just go ahead and do it!  That’ll prove them wrong!  In that same vein I say to you, embrace your weirdness and follow these simple steps:

-          Move to the UK

-          Buy an Austin Mini

-          Make sure you’re home every night to watch Coronation Street

-          Drink at the local pub

-          Get a job at an outdoor market and sell dodgy fish, stolen watches, and walking sticks

-          Stop spending money on dental care

-          Laugh at everyone

-          Complain about England to everyone

-          If someone from anywhere that’s not England complains about England, punch them

-          Learn to queue up at the post office

-          Write a letter to the Queen

-          Drink beer that isn’t watered down to taste like camel urine

-          Buy an umbrella and learn to love rain

-          Swim in the cold ocean and don’t be alarmed when you see pink toilet paper float past

-          Complain about how England used to rule the world

-          Watch a soccer match live, punch someone

-          Own a pair of wellington boots

-          Develop a stiff upper lip

Following these instructions will result in your ultimate happiness.  Sadly you’re scheduled to die this Sunday so you’ll never get the chance to experience any of it (just kidding).



To submit questions to Death, please email Death’s personal assistant at

Death also advises you read Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish. Anyone who doesn’t is destined to live a short and disappointing life.

Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish, by Andrew BuckleyDeath, the Devil, and the Goldfish

From the Bahamas to Heathrow airport, to the rain soaked streets of London the dead have ceased dying.

This is inconvenient for a number of reasons but what’s the real reason behind the chaos?

In London we find Nigel Reinhardt to be a disgraced, confused, and gifted London police constable who owns a prophetic goldfish. When the Devil hatches a nefarious plot to take over the world by possessing a cute little kitty and seizing a factory of robotic Christmas elves, it’s up to Nigel and a group of unlikely companions to save the world or die trying… or both.

About the Author

Andrew Buckley
Andrew is a 31 year old, married, marketer/satirist/writer/ninja, with 3 kids, 2 guinea pigs and a hectic lifestyle that would make a German blush. You've been warned. Andrew also runs PlanetKibi, an outlet for his wild creativity.