A reporter is standing on the roof of a skyscraper, ready to jump.

"Life just isn't fair," he muses to himself. "I've been working my ass off every day to get a good story for the newspaper, but I just can't find anything. I can't go on like this; it's probably best to just end it now."

"3, 2, 1..."

At this point, another man walks onto the roof and says "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you. As it turns out, I'm a chef, and I've been working my own ass off to create some great new recipes for my floundering restaurant, but I just can't make anything. I can't go on like this; it's probably best to just end it now. May I join you?" The reporter nods.

"3, 2, 1..."

At this point, another man walks onto the roof and says "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you. As it turns out, I'm an artist, and I've been working my own ass off to paint some creative new pictures to sell, but inspiration just isn't striking. I can't go on like this; it's probably best to just end it now. May I join you?" The reporter and the chef nod.

"3, 2, 1..."

At this point, another man walks onto the roof and says "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you. As it turns out, I'm a professional athlete, and I've been working my own ass off to get myself back into shape to save my career, but my age is catching up with me. I can't go on like this; it's probably best to just end it now. May I join you?" The reporter and the chef and the artist nod.

"3, 2, 1..."

At this point, everyone jumps off the building except for the reporter. He takes out his notepad and starts writing.

"3 Dead in Group Suicide..."