Sometimes when I’m driving I make up stories about the bugs who hit my windshield.

“Man, this is great! I can’t wait to get home and tell Bernice I got a promotion! We’ll be able to send little Timmy to that great private school now. And I’ll finally be able to treat Bernice how she deserves. Take her out to nice dinners, buy her jewelry and fancy dresses, maybe a private romantic vacation once a ye…” *SPLAT*

It’s a shame they always have to end in tragedy.