So you find yourself at a party (see? You still go to parties. There are plenty of reasons to live) at your married friends' house, waiting for everyone else to arrive because you showed up early because you have nothing going on. Your friend Sandy is feeding her baby, while her husband Randy is excited to explain cars to you. When guests start to trickle in, they do so in pairs: Bill and Jill, Barney and Arnie, Chris and Kris, and SaraCraig, old co-workers of yours whose bodies were fused together when you messed with some forces you didn't understand and should really have left alone at the Fitzsimmons Plant. When they start chatting, it's clear they all have shared, married couple experiences:
"We have so many stresses associated with being homeowners," Jill says to Chris.
"We created a human life and are now responsible for its fate," Randy says to Arnie.
"Just between you and me, our relationship hasn't been as strong since our torsos were melted into one torso and our daily lives came under a cruel shroud of constant, unfathomable agony. We share a nervous system and now have twice as many pain receptors as a normal human being, and each one screams for death," the lower half of SaraCraig says to Barney.
"I wish you wouldn't talk about our personal stuff at parties," the upper half says, in what is surely intended to be a whisper but actually comes out as a strained howl.