I once knew a ghoul who ate the corpse of a man named, "Mr. Candy."

She went as a piñata for Halloween.

Because... Oh, come now, don't give me that face, it's hilarious.

Why was the brain transplant reinstated?

Dunno, guess someone had a change of mind.

Once, I watched a Hitchcock film while mooning passersby from the eleventh story of a hotel.

Gave a whole new meaning to the term "rear window."

Well, just ripped one that took me by surprise so bad that I immediately opened two windows, turned on the ceiling fan and crawled around on all fours looking for a gas leak.

Don't know if I should be embarrassed or just impressed.

Hey! What has 1, 5/8, and 3/16 thumbs, 1 and 3/4 eyes, 7 and 10/6 toes and is no longer allowed to operate and industrial laser? — This guy!

SAME OLD FOLKS: No man is an island unto himself.
GREGOR: — Challenge accepted.

My latest fright-filled foray into the fickle, funny and foreboding is now available. Please Read for Free: THE HANGMAN'S CHOKE BOOK!

I could be serious, but I have more fun being strange

I tell ya, digital spell books, magic superstores, pshaw!

Back in my day, we just threw some gopher's eyelids, wormwood, and gizzards in a bucket, mumbled a bunch of gibberish, and hoped like friggin' hell we didn't accidentally summon ghoul-durn Cthulhu!

What do you call a zombie who forgets to eat?

Absent minded.

GREGOR: If the phone rings again, don't answer it.

CONRAD: Oh, telemarketers?

GREGOR: No, some smart aleck keeps callin' from the attic.

A corpse is a corpse, of course, of course, but have you ever heard of talking corpse?! Then talk to Mr. Dead!

I have no talent for carving pumpkins, unfortunately. I reserve those skills for cadavers.

They tell me I have one foot in the grave.

Well, that's true, but it's not like I wasn't gonna go back for it

GREGOR: Y'know somethin'? It be kinda cool if a witch turned me into a cat.

ME as a CAT: ... HELP!

So, I noticed @SpiritHalloween is on Instacart.

Why dost thou tempt me hallow spirits of the ethereal realm?

INSTRUCTOR: Okay, can anyone give me an example of an achievable goal?

GREGOR: *raises hand*

INSTRUCTOR: *sighs* Anyone besides Gregor and anything else but death!

Just a reminder, it is poisonous plant season, so be careful!

There's a lot of scammers out there, and the last batch I bought barely put my boss to sleep.

What do you call the Grim Reaper grooming your hair?

A brush with death.

Being an adult sucks. Supernatural creatures don't even want to come into my dreams and talk to me anymore.

I got a great idea for a horror movie set overnight at a convience store.

The premise?

It's a normal shift.

CONRAD: Come on, Gregor. I'm sure if we put our heads together we can think of something.

GREGOR: Okay, you're right... I'll get my sewing kit.

Just a small town ghoul, livin' in a world so cruel.

I took the midnight train being fairly scared.

Don't stop bereavin'!

Took out a death insurance policy in case I'm ever reanimated. 'Cause if I had to live in this day and age.

I'd expect to be compensated.

Girl wears so much black.

Can't tell if she's trying to raise a barn or the dead.

So, you ever been with a dead guy?
* me flirting *

CONRAD: Gregor, if you're dead than how come you gotta work a forty-hour, menial labor job?

GREGOR: Well, I was suppose to burn for an eternity then devil looks me over says, "Oh no, you're not gettin' off that easy."

I don't think people get my humor but, sometimes, if I feel close enough to them, they get the other end of a severed hand.

Then it's funny for me.

CONRAD: Gregor! What's going on here!? I found the attic, and it's full of body parts!

GREGOR: Oh, I'm so sorry you found — the attic.

That place's a mess... there's like body parts everywhere.

CONRAD: Gregor, don't drink so much soda it's not good.

GREGOR: Hey! Me and this soda can actually have a lot in common, I'll have you know.

CONRAD: Really? What could that possibly be?

GREGOR: Were both 73 percent recycled material.

Should old acquaintance be buried yet,
and left on the slab for a time?
Should I still not be fired yet,
for auld lang syne?

SAME OLD FOLKS: Would you keep it down! You'll wake up the dead!

GREGOR: No, it's cool. I'm already up.

What do you call a ghost that's upset because he's so average?

'Mean' spirited.

So boss man tells me we need to start getting in some young blood. So I says, "No problem."

Well, I come back with six pints of the stuff, and he's simply livid.

Guess, you just can't please some folks.

I'll have you know you'll find no skeletons in my closet.

Why, I keep them in storage.

Working from home just isn't the same when you're a gravedigger. I'm running out of room in the backyard.

But, I've gotten a load of compliments on my "Halloween display" in the front.

Look, I'm just saying that it can't be too hard to communicate with the dead. After all it's just necromancy.

Not like it's rocket science.

Someone asked the other day if I could cut them some slack.

Naturally, I agreed and immediately asked for a carving knife.

The world is often troubling. So if anyone needs me to lend an ear then just come down to the graveyard with a machete.

I'll let you take your pick. #shearingiscaring

All stocked up for Halloween.
As you can see, I just adore children.

I can't even believe I actually have to say this but a power drill is not to perform brain surgery!

The infernal cord simply isn't long enough.

SAME OLD FOLKS: Better be careful, you'll work yourself to death.

GREGOR: Now that's what I call early retirement.

Ugh! Just caught Frankenstein and his bride doing you know what in the graveyard.

Yes, that's right. He did the "smash."

He did the monster smash.

GREGOR: I know a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve.

CONRAD: Oh, let me guess, so he carries literal beating organic tissue on his wrist? Is that right?

GREGOR: What? No, I'm saying his emotions are obvious.

CONRAD: *sighs* I can never tell with you, Gregor.

If anyone wants to make a movie about a gravedigger I only ask that you don't try and bury the plot.

GREGOR: My friend just got a facelift. I don't know about you all, but I can hardly recognize him anymore.

MY FRIEND:

Once I ghosted an acquaintance for many years.

Of course, it was after I died, so not sure if that's the right kind of ghosted.

So young fella the other day keeps bangin' from inside the coffin yellin', "I'm not dead yet."

To which I say, "Buddy, I'm just a hired hand, reapin', well, that's the other guy's job."

SAME OLD FOLKS: Man, you're just putting nails in your own coffin.

GREGOR: — challenge accepted.

Words to Live By: "Eat like the Wolf Man, sleep like Dracula, walk like Frankenstein and rise like the Mummy straight from the tomb!"

Some folk don't like being a gravedigger. I for one love the community feel. You really do get to know every 'body.

I hate it when folk tell me, "Over my dead body!" Like seriously? Quit trying to jump the line, geez.

There's a secret I've only ever told a mummy, but I'm not worried, because—he can keep it under wraps

Head, shoulders, knees and bolts!
Knees and bolts!

Tentacles and metal claws!
Metal claws!

And eyes and fangs, blood of a sacrificial goat!

Head, shoulders, knees and bolts!

SAME OLD FOLKS: Hey, it was just a joke. Nothing to lose a head over.

GREGOR: I'll have you know I'd never lose a head. I keep accountability over my things, and, well, that's just sloppy.

I think I've lost my mind... oh no, wait, I found it.

I don't think people get my humor but, sometimes, if I feel close enough to them, they get the other end of a severed hand.

Than it's funny for me.

Why did the skinny zombie kick the fat zombie out of the boat?

Because he was just a lot of dead weight.

I get asked, "If you're dead how can you talk?" The answer? Simple.

There's many types of dead (dead as dead, as a doornail, a dodo, etc.) from whence one may return.

The last stage of dead is called, "The Macarena." And for that to return is a sure sign of the apocalypse

What do you call a play in the middle of a funeral procession?

A re-'hearse'-al.

A common dream is to see one's teeth falling out. Often interpreted as symbolizing our uncertainty and insecurity in the face of life changes or times of significant loss.

But if you ask me, I just think you need to go and brush those abominable teeth

GREGOR: How much for the hearse?

SELLER: Sorry, she's not for sale. I just don't have the heart to part with her.

GREGOR: So if I throw in one of those too do we have a deal?

What do you mean your back from the DEAD! ... Like, really —why so soon?

Photographer asked if I could be more animated. I replied, "Got a live electric wire?"

The instructor keeps saying there's something creepy about the way I raise my hand in class.

For the death of me, I don't know what she's talking about.

Well, another person just told me I'm weird.

Like, seriously, how'd they guess?

We are presently holding auditions for our graveyard quartet. As a sidenote, diversity is key.

So living or dead, all are encouraged to apply.

Short, sweet, simple and to the point:

"Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
My heart is dead.
Now, what's it to you!?"

I would like to be the first to welcome our newest members, Bigfoot, Loch Ness Monster, Mothman, and the Jersey Devil, to our local chapter of "Alcoholics Anomalous."

CONRAD: Gregor, how old are you again?
GREGOR: 333 but age is just a number.
CONRAD: ... yes Gregor, a REALLY big number.

GREGOR: Hey Conrad, how many fingers am I holding up?
CONRAD: 13!? ...Man, seriously, put those back.

You'll never find me counted among the living, 'cause I ain't about that life.

Sure, I'll sleep with my feet out of the covers, but no way am I leaving that closet door open.

That's just asking for a Jorōgumo to put her web about your ankle, yourself screaming, as she drags you by her long spider arms into the unseen void.

PRO TIP: You can't get a tummy ache, if you remove all your internal organs.

Why does, "Pull my finger," always end up with me and a detached digit? ...

And some child crying hysterically

SAME OLD FOLKS: Be careful up there, if you slip it'll knock the life outta ya.

GREGOR: ... I highly doubt it

Hope you all will forgive my absence lately I've... Well, I've been dead.

Can we make, "Turnt as a werewolf on a full moon night," a thing?

The greatest prank not yet attempted is for Robert Englund to crash a haunted house.

Stop rolling your eyes at me! And be sure to wash them after picking them off the floor.

My associate, Conrad, just phoned me. Says there's been some mix-up at the gravesite. Seems the corpse was left behind on the slab.

Well, Conrad just awoke from his nap and wants to know if I could dig him up now.

It ain't easy being green... But, yea, probably should see a doctor 'bout that.

— Swallowed some copper wire for safe keepin

Oh, being a gravedigger is like a walk in the park...

But with tombstones

Don't even get me started about something costin' an arm and a leg. 'Cause ya know I'll throw in a spleen to sweeten that deal.

Life.

... No, that's the whole joke. Like "LMFAO" am I right?

GREGOR: Waiter! This formaldehyde taste like tea.

WAITER: Uh, that's because it is tea.

GREGOR: Egad! What are you trying to do? Kill me?!

SAME OLD FOLKS: You make a lot of really, really bad horror puns

GREGOR: So? Is there more to life?

... Because I hate to make any-'gore' of those 'grave' mistakes

Sure, everybody says they want steady work with lots of exercise and fresh air, but whenever I offer to put in a good word down at the graveyard all I get are excuses.

So, I tripped over my own leg yesterday. My fault for leaving it there, I guess.

I elevate my work to the level of art. But apparently the collage I made back at the morgue wasn't well received.

RIP Twitter is trending, but it appears to still be alive. So, unfortunately, I'm going to hold off burial services. I don't want to have a repeat of last Saturday's incident

My associate, Conrad, said he had eyes on the back of his head. I replied for him to quit loafing about and put then back where he found them.

I arose early and noticed my parlor light on, but no matter how I tried I couldn't shut it off. And then — I learned of this thing you call "the daytime."

There was some mixup at the mechanic's. Apparently, the box in my trunk labelled "spare parts" wasn't what he thought it was.

My latest sweetheart thought she would bury our relationship, but I clawed my way out

This job is killing me. Everyday it brings me just a little closer to death. — It's good to have goals.

If I want to drink my soup out of a vase I found, I will. Because I think I've urn-ed it.

Do zombie students turn homework in on decomposition notebooks?

Read any good epitaphs lately?

** me trying to make normal conversation **

"Hush little baby don't you squirm. The grave is full of the most delightful worms."

Or so mother used to sing to me.

For me digging my own grave isn't really an issue—it's more of the goal.

Should anyone need an extra hand please do let me know, I'm sure I have an extra lying about somewhere.

Death makes a questionable motivation poster and a lousy survival guide.

Here lies the Bagges, Muriel, Courage and Eustace. The zombies broke in and the dog proved useless.

When I sing in the shower I always get a strange echo, but it doesn't really bother me—until after I stop

Did you hear about the guy who tried to sell the haunted house?

The market was dead on arrival.

FRIEND: I have a package for you.
GREGOR: Great! Well, come up, and I'll let you through the gate.
FRIEND: On second thought, I'll just mail it to you.

Here lies what's left of Gustav Gory. The sight? It wasn't pretty. And that's the end of his story.