Through one single moment of stupidity, I will end up a recipient of a Darwin Award (http://www.darwinawards.com/), and my death will be the subject of snickering instead of sorrow. Of course, my poor family will be stuck with grieving while having to listen to everyone else having a great time describing my demise, and for ever after they'll have to hear "Oh, wasn't she the one who was eaten by llamas at the petting zoo?" or something. This phobia exists side by side with my enjoyment of the most violent of Monty Python sketches and of the Darwin Awards.
