Like all good arguments, it began over a chocolate bar. How does one consume a Twix? Via the nose or via the ear?

As they were driving southbound, away from the supermarket that they frequently referred to as “Bernard’s Face”, Mandy McFurry looked left towards her husband, Tommy McFurry. He was inserting a Twix into his left ear and, naturally, she felt that this was all wrong. She could forgive his loud sinus problems, but this was harder to endure.

“In yer fucking nose Tommy! Must I always tell you this or do I simply accept that I married a daft shitter?”

She got not so much a reply as a grunt. Notoriously, Tommy didn’t like to be disturbed as he consumed a Twix, but when he was done with it, he shot back.

“Must I listen to you? I get enough lip in work, but you as well? This isn’t a life, it’s a fucking nightmare!”

“Well,” said Mandy with dignity and composure. “You signed the marriage papers.”

That’s when Tommy pulled a gun from the glove compartment.

“Don’t make me use this,” he squealed, waving it in the air.

“What do I care?” said Mandy. “You aside, I’ve lived a good life. This isn’t such a bad time to go.”

It was a hard perspective to bargain with, so Tommy put the gun back in the compartment and went into one of his famous McFurry huffs.

About a mile down the road, it was his turn to pay for the petrol. He got out of the car and skulked to the kiosk. Begrudgingly, he paid the clerk. When he turned around, Mandy was gone. And worse than that, he still had some Twix sticking out of his ear.