Congratulations on Finding the Diamonds!

You and your wife are one of those married pairs of supertheives who channeled all the spite and sexual tension in their marriage into professional burglary, and so far its been working great.

Over the last five years the two of you have been stealing absurd amounts of money, jewels, and ancient artifacts while narrowly avoiding capture by authority figures the world over. Since you both had well-paying jobs before hand and both have this bullshitty quasi-Buddhist philosophy about life you end up giving most of this money away, but the simple act of charity makes you both so hot that just can’t keep away from one another.

It’s easily the most interesting couples therapy any of us have ever seen and it seems to work really, really well. You’re like a pair of college sophomores the way you’ve been going at it. But you’re in for a snag.

You pulled a big job last week, one where you stole a huge number of blood diamonds from a DeBeers down at your local mall. It went off without a hitch until the two of you sat down and started discussing what to do with your most recent acquisition. Your wife wanted to put it all into the Darfur genocide, but you thought AIDS awareness and prevention programs would be a more proactive use.

Its thrown a big wrench into the old sex-machine, and neither of you are willing to give ground. You’re both the sort of arrogant twats who believe that their opinions are correct and barely listen to what the other person is saying. This is actually what drew you together in the first place, and what strained your marriage previously.

After a week of discussion you’ll check the hiding spot in the freezer, but the diamonds will be gone. You’ll strip out the freezer’s entire contents of Breyer’s and Lean Cuisine, but all for naught. They’ll be nowhere to be found.

In a panic you’ll accuse your wife of having taken all of them for her flash in the pan cause that she barely knew about before Leonardo DiCaprio wouldn’t shut his chiseled, gorgeous face about it.

She’ll fire back that you probably just spent it all on your homo-charity, maybe with a slice left over for some gay sex with male prostitutes. She was never very creative with insults, and she won’t even hear you when you tell her that the majority of AIDS sufferers are heterosexual.

It’ll get more and more heated, with each of you throwing shit at the other until your wife finally blurts out that she cheated on you with Craig, your friend from IT who used to stop by your house to “fix the internet.” In a fit of rage, you’ll tell her you slept with her sister, Rebecca Romijn. You both know that it was years ago, but you’ll still want to tear out each other’s throats.

You’ll wander around the house in a rage until you remember that you stashed a gun long ago in the back of the toilet. You’ll formulate an ill-conceived plan to murder your wife and kill yourself to show your affection, but when you check the back of the toilet you’ll lose track of the plan completely.

There in the back of the toilet, perfectly sealed, will be a shit load of diamonds. Enough to buy a small country, if you were so inclined. As you stare at them dumbfounded you’ll vaguely recall an Ambien induced episode of unconscious activity where you moved your stash and masturbated into a glass and drank it. You’ll feel mighty foolish about the whole thing.

Find your wife and apologize to her. Tell her you want to split the money between charities, so that it can do as much good as possible. That’ll make her forget all about your sister and ride your dick until she ruins that eco-friendly Ikea couch. Also, it's considerably less retarded than both your previous plans.

Finally, get the fuck off Ambien. It works fine for some people, but you’re not one of them. You can afford real therapy. Oh, and congratulations on finding the diamonds. We’ll be writing you another congratulations story in nine months if you catch our drift.

We just winked.