I always imagined my marriage ending in a murder suicide pact.  My wife, face determined and filled with rage, tracks me down.  I try to flea, but my ankle twists underneath me preventing me from running.  I desperately try to crawl away from my executioner.  As she lowers the barrel between my eyes I think, "I deserve this... I should have put the toilet seat down."
Then all is merciful blackness.
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