The house is in disorder, and what do I care? I don't check if it's clean or dirty; I just live in it. Cleaning is not my thing. What do you think about dying now? Nothing, because I'm going to kill you if you don't clean. Each one can die with their firm ideas, and cleaning is not mine. So kill me if you want.
He took a weapon and killed him.
He went to heaven, and there they asked him, "How did you get here? You're not qualified for this place." "I don't know, it's not my issue. I'm here, so deal with it."
"No, you can't be here. Come back immediately," they said. He returned to Earth, sat in his dirty armchair, and they looked at him. They couldn't believe it since they had taken out insurance on him. Now they had to return the insurance, so they killed him again. Now he goes to hell, arrives, and they say, "How did you get here? You didn't follow the rule of so much wickedness, you don't qualify." "But this is a disaster," he says. "It will be a disaster," they tell him, "but it's not your concern," and they send him back to the package.
Already tired of dying and living and not being wanted anywhere, he commits suicide and goes to limbo. There in limbo, they say, "Here come those who are not ready for either side, and you don't fit into either."
For some reason, he gains some powers and creates a fourth place for himself. He arrives and starts to enjoy himself, but again, he's a slob. The dirt, full of courage, eats him, and there's nothing left of him. Dirt is the owner of the place, it eats life, and it will take you if you're not clean to a place that will be your end.