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Gregor the Gravedigger follows the doings and sayings of an undead, cemetery worker, as he comments upon mishaps with a generally morbid twist. A self-proclaimed “working stiff working with stiffs” the character of Gregor was created to promote Thrill Land's Weird Halloween brand on certain social media platforms.
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ALL JOKES ARE ORIGINAL CREATIONS OF THRILL LAND
RETURN TO HOME
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This job is killing me. Everyday it brings me just a little closer to death. — It's good to have goals.
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Should anyone need an extra hand please do let me know, I'm sure I have an extra lying about somewhere.
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So I tripped over my own leg yesterday. My fault for leaving it there, I guess.
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I elevate my work to the level of art. But apparently the collage I made back at the morgue wasn't well received.
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Why does, "Pull my finger," always end up with me and a detached digit? ...
And some child crying hysterically
And some child crying hysterically
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Well, another person just told me I'm weird.
Like, seriously, how'd they guess?
Like, seriously, how'd they guess?
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ME: Waiter! This formaldehyde taste like tea.
WAITER: Uh, that's because it is tea.
ME: Egad! What are you trying to do? Kill me?!
WAITER: Uh, that's because it is tea.
ME: Egad! What are you trying to do? Kill me?!
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Photographer asked if I could be more animated. I replied, "Got a live electric wire?"
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We are presently holding auditions for our graveyard quartet. As a side-note, diversity is key.
So living or dead, all are encouraged to apply.
So living or dead, all are encouraged to apply.
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Short, sweet, simple and to the point:
"Roses are red. Violets are blue. My heart is dead. Now, what's it to you!?
"Roses are red. Violets are blue. My heart is dead. Now, what's it to you!?
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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."
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CONRAD: Gregor, how old are you again?
ME: 333 but age is just a number.
CONRAD: ... yes Gregor, a REALLY big number
ME: 333 but age is just a number.
CONRAD: ... yes Gregor, a REALLY big number
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ME: Hey Conrad, how many fingers am I holding up?
CONRAD: 13 ...Man, seriously, put those back.
CONRAD: 13 ...Man, seriously, put those back.
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You'll never find me counted among the living, 'cause I ain't about that life.
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PRO TIP: You can't get a tummy ache, if you remove all your internal organs.
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SAME OLD FOLKS: Be careful up there, if you slip it'll knock the life outta ya.
ME: ... I highly doubt it
ME: ... I highly doubt it
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Can we make, "Turnt as a werewolf on a full moon night," a thing?
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Stop rolling your eyes at me! And be sure to wash them after picking them off the floor.
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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.
Well, Conrad just awoke from his nap and wants to know if I could dig him up now.
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So fellow the other day keeps on banging from up inside the coffin yelling, "I'm not dead yet."
To which I replied, "Sir, I'm just a hired hand, reapin', well, that's the other guy's job.
To which I replied, "Sir, I'm just a hired hand, reapin', well, that's the other guy's job.
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It ain't easy being green... But, yea, probably should see a doctor 'bout that.
— Swallowed some copper wire for safe keeping
— Swallowed some copper wire for safe keeping
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Oh, being a gravedigger is like a walk in the park...
But with tombstones.
But with tombstones.
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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.
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Life.
... No, that's the whole joke. Like "LMFAO" am I right?
... No, that's the whole joke. Like "LMFAO" am I right?
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SAME OLD FOLKS: You make a lot of really, really bad horror puns.
ME: So? Is there more to life?
... Because I hate to make any-'gore' of those 'grave' mistakes.
ME: So? Is there more to life?
... Because I hate to make any-'gore' of those 'grave' mistakes.
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Sure, everyone 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.
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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.
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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."
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There was some mixup at the mechanic's. Apparently, the box in my trunk labelled "spare parts" wasn't what he thought it was.
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My latest sweetheart thought she would bury our relationship. But I clawed my way out.
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For me digging my own grave isn't really an issue—it's more of the goal.
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If I want to drink my soup out of a vase I found, I will. Because I think I've urn-ed it.
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Do zombie students turn homework in on decomposition notebooks?
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Read any good epitaphs lately?
** me flirting **
** me flirting **
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Here lies the Bagges, Muriel, Courage and Eustace. The zombies broke in and the dog proved useless
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When I sing in the shower, I always get a strange echo, but it doesn't really bother me—until after I stop.
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Did you hear about the guy who tried to sell the haunted house?
The market was dead on arrival
The market was dead on arrival
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Here lies what's left of Gustav Gory. The sight? It wasn't pretty. And that's the end of his story.
ALL JOKES ARE ORIGINAL CREATIONS OF THRILL LAND
RETURN TO HOME
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