"Agh!" says Sarah.

    You stumble into the bathroom, and look for the box of band-aids.

    "Holy shit!" says Sarah.

    You apply some bactine, then put a band-aid on over your wound.  The blood is too wet for it to stick, however, and it slides off.

    "Brad, what happened?"

    "My ass," you struggle to say, becoming faint from blood loss.

    "Forget your ass, you lost your hand, Brad!"

    "My ass," you say gasping for breath, "must... be..."

    Sarah looks at you in confusion.

    "...ugh ...stopped," you gasp.

    You collpase next to the tub.

    Sarah is dumbfounded.

    ...

    At your wake, friends and relatives come to bid you farewell and offer condolences.  But they are surprised to find that you were placed in the casket face-down.

    "What's up with that?" asks your Aunt Priscilla.

    "His last words," whispers Sarah, "were: 'My ass must be on top.'"

    Priscilla nods understandingly.
 

The End
 
You have died.

Your final score is:
85

Start again.