Die

part of a machine that punches and shapes holes (n)

God and Death were drinking jasmine tea at a teahouse in Heaven and Death was reading the Bible, holding his steaming tea in one hand the Good Book in the other.
Death chuckled at something.
"What?" God asked.
"Nothing," Death said, still laughing.
"Tell me."
"Naw, it's nothing, really."
"It's not nothing," God insisted, "it has to be something if you're laughing at it."
Death chuckled under his breath and tried to keep it down in his throat. He took a breath to collect himself and closed the Book and let his hand hang over the side of the plush teahouse chair. He took a sip from his tea.
"It's just that, you created them in your image, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"And you can't die, right? I mean, you're immortal."
"Uh huh, yeah, what about it?"
"I just thought of this one guy I saw recently. He worked at a big hyrdoelectric dam making sure these huge pistons pumped up and down. Real nice guy. Had a family and a kid and everything. And I guess he was looking at a picture of his son and--because he was leaning forward and looking down at the picture--his head got caught in one of these this big pistons and the thing just smashed his head to little bits all over the place."
God took a sip of his tea.
"So?" he asked.
"So, nothing. I was just reading you Book here again and I remembered this man and I'm finding it all terribly funny all of a sudden."
God shook his head and brought his mug to his face.
"You always did have a morbid sense of humor," he said.