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Most people spend too much of their lives worrying about death. They hope it will happen far in the future, without pain, after a rewarding life. Failing that, some hope to go out meaningfully, laying it all down for a cause or those they love. Only a rare few realize what they should really fear is that the end will come not in a blaze of glory or with the comfort of rest, but with a whoopee-cushion blare and a round of guffaws.

Some unfortunates are remembered not for the content of their lives, but the circumstances of those lives' ends. Some people, through carelessness, recklessness, or the Fates' favorite phrase, "It couldn't happen to me!" manage to meet their (presumably frustrated) maker having done something so dumb it c

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