Third guy says, “Bologna sandwiches again! Yuck! If I gotta eat this shit one more time, I’m just gonna jump.”
The next day, the first guy opens his lunch. He sees it’s a tuna on rye, and he yells, “FUCK!!!” and he jumps off the building and splatters on the street below.
The second guy opens his lunch box. “Goddamn meatloaf again! That’s it!” And he leaps to his death as well. Splat!
The third guy opens his lunch box. “FUCK!” he says. “Bologna! Goodbye, world!” And he steps off the girder too. A moment later, he splatters on the street below.
At the funeral, the widows are sobbing and crying to the heavens.
“Oh, Joe! If you’d only you’d told me you didn’t like tuna fish! I would have made you something else!” And she breaks down, inconsolable.
The second widow tears at her shirt. “Bill! Dear sweet Bill! Why didn’t you tell me you hated meatloaf so much! I had a fridge full of cold cuts of all types!” And she collapses to the floor, heartbroken.
Everybody looks at the third widow, sitting there knitting all by herself. She looks up and realizes they’re staring.
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “That idiot packed his own lunches.”