Throughline for a Cymbalta Commercial?

In the middle of the night, when my husband’s insanely loud notification tone went off four times within thirty minutes but he wouldn’t turn it lower even though it kept waking me, I told him I wanted to suffocate him and then chop his body into little pieces so that I could apportion fragments of him into a bunch of Cafe Bustello coffee cans, and then drive overland to South America and feed the bits to endangered sloths. I guess it’s time to go back on medication?

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Photo by Erin Albrecht.