Currently Rincewind is sitting in the Mended Drum listening to a conversation from a fairly cheerful barbarian. It is 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon, the beginning of what is called in other fic-verses the "long dark tea-time of the soul."
This insanely cheerful barbarian is named Hgual, and has just been entertaining Rincewind with a list of the twenty funniest puns he has done in dire situations. Hgual is too wrapped up in himself, as most barbarians are, to notice that Rincewind is trying to find a way out of the conversation.
"So I said, 'Ha! I laugh in the face of danger, smack the buttock of fear, and give death a right good talking to as well.'"
"Really?" Rincewind tried to help the conversation. "He must not like that very much."
"Nah, he don't. But what can he do? It's not my time!" Hgual burst into peals of laughter. "I heard it been said that there are things worse than death. Don't believe it. Sure, maybe Death tell yer god 'Hey, give this one something to think about for the next billion years,' but I doubt it. Erg, gods. Don't get me started. Yeh see, gods can't even rule themselves, much less rule all discly lives PLUS their afterlives. They don't even notice our lives. Cept for sacrifices, I bloody well hope they notice THEM. And I tell em they gotta take more of an interest. Every time I sack a temple, I always say a prayer, mostly saying, 'Look what a bunch of tits you got running this place. Come have a drink with me and we'll talk it over.' A couple of them have. Oh, it's all 'you can't find proper sacrifices these days,' and, 'nobody prays anymore,' but that's all lazy god talk. That's what I tell em. If you want some followers, you got to go out a do a bloody miracle."
"That's… fascinating."
"Right. What was I talking about? You know, like three paragraphs ago?"
"Death?"
"Afterlife. Right. My point is that I'm not gonna let my soul get judged by some god that never seen it before. How good a judge would they be, huh? Let me tell you, don't ever let a god near your soul."
"Point taken."