The year is 2082. I'm 92 years old.

I'm dying, surrounded by my large, loving, devoted family. I prepare my final wishes as my children hold my hands:

"Divide my assets amongst yourselves, sell the house to start college funds for my grandchildren, and throw my ashes into the ocean. All I want is a small plaque by my childhood home with my name and dates, and "Rest in Deace" at the bottom."

My eldest child leans in, confused. "Don't you mean rest in peace, dad? What does rest in deace mean?"

"Deace nuts, bitch."

My family screams in horror as I immediately flatline and descend into hell.

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