Early one morning, near dawn, Marcollo’s wife hears a knock at the door. It’s one of Marcollo’s friends.
“Where’s my husband?” she asks. “He was supposed to be with you, picking up a case of Orbon Rum.”
“I’m sorry,” says Marcollo’s friend, “But something horrible happened at the distillery. Marcollo toppled head-first into a barrel of rum and drowned.”
So the wife starts blubbering, “Oh, my love! He’s gone. At least tell me it was a quick death.”
“I can’t lie,” says Marcollo’s friend, “He got out three times to piss!”