Without doubt, the scariest and most bad-rapped netherworld figure is The Grim Reaper. But unjustly so, sez I.

To most people — Death Metal and Dungeon Synth fans to the contrary — he’s an object of fear…shivering, bone-chilling, knee-shaking fear. But he shouldn’t be.

After all, what’s to be afraid of? He’s doesn’t harm anyone — you’re already dead; he’s just the messenger. He’s there to help you diddy-bop your bad self to wherever you think you’ll be diddy-bopping post-croak.

Ultimately, I look at TGR in a positive light, as a weird sort of friend. After all, he’s there with us when we shuffle off our mortal coils. I’m not sure how many other peeps — imaginary or real — we can depend on for the same service.

Don’t get me wrong. I may think of The Reaper as a friend, but I don’t wanna be chillin’ with him anytime soon. Courting death never appealed to me. In fact, the only deadly practice I’ve ever indulged in, and still do, is crossing the streets of My Home Town.

How dangerous is that? Well, lemme put it this way: Having explored this topic and these streets extensively, I can state unequivocally the only way to safely cross a Saranac Lake street is in a helicopter.

If you don’t believe me, odds are you rarely cross them. Most people don’t actually walk around town.

Instead, they go downtown to a specific place — the library, the post office, a restaurant, a shop — and having a healthy sense of self-preservation, park their car on the same side of the street as their destination. Beyond that, hardly anyone walks around town much anymore, for any reason.

Whenever I complained about our crosswalks as potential killing fields, people attributed it to the crosswalks being poorly marked, if marked at all. But guess what? The crosswalks have all been repainted so strikingly, they can now probably be seen from Alpha Centauri with the naked eye. Still, it hasn’t made a shred of difference in drivers respecting the luckless clucks in the crosswalks.

Weirdest of all in The Great SL Crosswalk Fiasco takes place at the Broadway and Bloomingdale Ave.

intersection. For there, when the light gives the pedestrians the go-ahead, it does the same thing for the vehicles. So say you’re headed up Broadway to see your pals at the Rescue Squad and you stop at B’dale Ave, waiting till you get the “Walk” signal. Then when you do, as you start to cross the street, some jamoke in the oncoming lane peels out and makes a left into B’dale Ave — the self-same B’dale Ave you’ve just stepped into. The good news is you’ll see your pals in the Rescue Squad very soon. The bad news is when they see you, they may have to check your ID to figure out who you used to be.

Several years ago, a bunch of the street names were changed. I don’t know if that’ll ever happen again, but if it does, and we change those two, I think their new handles should should be Buttclench Boulevard and Maim Street.

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A near-death experience here, a near-death experience there …

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You think I’m just being a geriatric fuddy-duddy? You should’ve been with me last week as I watched my pal Dutch Dehond try to cross Main Street in the crosswalk in front of China Jade. As he stepped into the crosswalk, a car stopped. So far, so good. He started to cross, figuring all was right with the world. But it wasn’t. Because as soon as he stepped past the front of the stopped car, someone behind it, deciding that while patience may be a virtue, it wasn’t their virtue, so he pulled out and passed the stopped car. By sheer fluke, they missed Dutch…but by a split-second, literally.

While such lunatic behavior may not be typical, it’s also not unique. And the percentage of drivers who don’t pay attention to the crosswalk law is irrelevant, because it only takes one of them to turn any of us into in-town roadkill.

Oh yeah, another note: According to most townies, the crosswalk scofflaws are all tourists, typically Jersey-ites. But as convenient rationale as that rationale is, it’s also not true. Uh-uh, we have a plentiful supply of local vehicular eejits, and I doubt it’ll run out anytime soon.

I’ve tried to call attention to how bad the situation is for a bunch of years. For one thing, I’ve bent the ear of almost everyone I know about it. For another thing, every year for at least the last five (though with my memory being what it isn’t, it could be the last 10) I’ve devoted one column a year to it. I even had a tête-à-tête with Chief Perotte two years ago. He was sincere, easy to talk to, and willing to listen. He also told me they just don’t have enough people to patrol the streets, either on foot or on the cop bikes.

While I don’t doubt him, that still leaves us with the original problem.

So can anything be done to solve it? And if so, what?

Well, to paraphrase those immortal words of Thomas Jefferson: When in the course of human events, no one’s minding the store, it’s time for the Dope in the street to step up and take care of bizness.

Thus I’ve decided to launch my very own Take Back The Crosswalks Crusade. It will be carried out according to The Dope’s Code of Contrarian Capers, which has four ironclad rules:

1. Everything must be done in strict accordance to the letter and spirit of the law.

2. It must be done solo.

3. It must be original (I mean, imitation may be the highest form of flattery, but it also eliminates breakthrough thinking).

4. It must demonstrate theatricality and flair — the outward manifestations of inventive thought.

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Argh!

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Perhaps best of all, The Crusade be carried out a special Edward Teach Touch. Edward Teach, lest you not know, was the real name of Blackbeard, everyone’s favorite ravingly maniacal pirate.

Aside from drivers being ignorant of the New York State law about crosswalks (which is: Pedestrians in crosswalks have the right of way. Period.), a lot of drivers are distracted — either by booming music, messaging on their cellphones, bad days at the office, serious worries, sleazy fantasies, or who knows what else. In other words, their bods may be in their cars, but their minds aren’t.

I intend to change the distraction that takes them away from their driving, to my distraction. And I’ll do it with a simple, ancient and effective tool — a flag. The flag will be three by five feet, zip-tied to a fishing pole I found in a free pile.

My action will be simplicity itself: I’ll stand on the curb by the crosswalk, hold the rod out into the road, at windshield height, and then wave it hither, thither and yon. I figure the sudden movement of an unfamiliar object will snap the driver out of whatever reverie they’re in, and make them focus on the flag.

And so, as a reflex, they’ll slow down, if not stop. But even if it doesn’t work and the driver breezes through the crosswalk, it’s no biggie cuz I won’t be in their path.

But, you might ask, what in the blue blazes does Blackbeard have to do with any of this?

What, indeed?

Just this: The flag I’ll be waving will, of course, be a classic Jolly Roger.

I thought of adding a tri-corn hat, eye patch and a hook, but scratched those ideas. I mean, if I do that, people might think I’m weird.