Everybody wants to live forever, right? Well what if I told you that you could? That there was an easy method to immortality that involves a powerful Egyptian magician, a fearsome Black Cat of Eternity, and, uh, juggling? Wait! Where are you going?


You'd give up a lot to live forever? Well Jason Bradford had to give something, and that something he gave was a party that got out of hand, thanks to the 13th guest! And apparently also a giant cat head with a volcano exploding out of its giant cat forehead, two thousand years ago.


We can't choose how we're born, but we can choose how we die - and Bradford intends to die in the extremely specific manner of throwing one hell of a party and then leaving town for an exotic destination where nobody can find him or ask him to help with the after-party cleanup. Now where's that book about throwing unforgettable parties and then ditching?


I dunno about the Pharaoh here, but ask anyone who's spent the last six or eight hours drinking themselves stupid at a party if they want to keep on living, and they might just tell you "if it means more of this hangover, then absolutely not!"


Juggling! That's the key to immortality! This is why you always see the same guys down in the city center year after year in the exact same spot with the exact same hat on the sidewalk, forever juggling for spare change. They are immortal. Defy them at your peril.


Who expected ball-handling technique to be of such importance in the quest for immortality?


HERE'S what's REALLY killing Bradford - hand-writing twelve party invitations! It's torture, sheer wrist-destroying torture.


"Who's THIS character who isn't adhering to our strict party dress code of 'what people in the 1960s thought ancient Romans wore?' Throw him out!"


Bradford somehow juggles those balls perfectly! He's about to achieve the boon of immortality - an eternity of a cat perched on his shoulder, digging its claws into his flesh, occasionally nipping at his ear. Forever!


In the midst of all this dialog about ancient Egyptian wizards and immortality and balls, the artist for this story really captures the disgusted, almost contemptuous "whatever" thousand-yard stare of your typical cat.


So you live for centuries and eventually you just sort of learn how to control time itself? I guess that's how that works.


There's rumbling and the house is shaking? That's not a natural disaster, this is how you know you're at a really good party!


So drunky here thinks Jason Bradford somehow made an actual volcano erupt for his party? Okay buddy, that's it, no more for you. And give me your car keys.


Dating their statues "A.D." is DEFINITELY a thing people did back in the Year of the Consulship of Titus and Vespasianus! Right, historians?


Ah yes, it's well known that the citizens of Pompeii survived the eruption of Vesuvius by sheltering in their homes. We know this due to all the, uh, preserved corpses that have been excavated in Pompeii, of citizens who died inside their homes, because they were in there, sheltering from the eruption. Great plan, Bradford.


Sending an entire house and all its inhabitants back in time to Roman territory during the first century AD? This is SO CLOSE to being an episode of the Bible-themed Japanese anime series "Flying House!" All we need is a robot and Corky! Wait for Corky!


Sure Bradford, you got tricked by Zaljaz, he's had thousands of years to work up contingency plans in case anyone ever manhandled his balls away. But first, more painful shoulder cat scratches!


So that's how Bradford did it, he figured Zaljaz was cheating, so he worked out some counter-cheating. It's cheating all the way down with these live-forever guys, isn't it?


Somehow this panel is really giving me the urge to run out and buy some firecrackers, a very specific brand of firecrackers.


Here we see that Jason is really the greatest guy in the world, because not only did he give up immortality for his friends, he steadfastly refuses to throw it in their face at every opportunity, he's not bringing it up every time he needs an airport pickup or help moving. Truly, a tight-lipped miracle man!


And instead of getting a painful debilitating infection from cat scratches - happens all the time, keep some Bactine handy, cat owners - Bradford got a cat-scratch fever that cat-scratch fevered away the germs that were causing whatever it was that was going to kill him in six months! Which is convenient, or ironic, or both. And as it turns out, immortality isn't merely a matter of skillful ball handling. Sorry, fellas.

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