Death stomp surly up to Universe and muttered in his icy voice, "He doesn't play the game fairly, Mother".
"How is he cheating," she asked her ebon haired son.
"When I clean the playground, he grows new imperfections and mars its purity," he answered.
"Isn't that you brother's purpose?" Universe quizzed her youngest son. "He creates life along with the randomness and chaos it brings."
Death shuddered and spoke, "But it is moist and it refuses to stay within the lines or even clean up after themselves, these creations of my brother."
"Which is why you are needed," Universe said.