You get that chocolate. In fact, you get more chocolate than you could ever want in your entire life. Hershey's Kisses, Kit Kats, Snickers, Milky Ways, those crazy little gourmet chocolates...yes, everything. You attempt to eat it all, but go into diabetic shock and end up in a coma and have both legs amputated. Due to this comatose state, your girlfriend leaves you for a tall, rich, handsome, muscular, talented man (such as myself...no, but seriously) and makes sweet passionate love to him in your bed. You wake up three years later, remembering nothing except a towering mound of, well, Mounds bars before everything went to black. Going home, expecting your former lover to take you back into her arms, you find that she has moved into the house permanently with her new(ish) hubby. After injecting a large dose of heroin and insulin, you bust into the bedroom (because that's the first place you'd go obviously), enraged, and find the pair heavily entrenched in the wild passions of lovemaking. You die instantly of a simultaneous massive coronary, stroke, conniption, and testicular cancer, and void your bowels when you hit the floor. The lovers do not notice until later that you are dead on their carpet. The end.
I wish I could fly...I wish I could touch the sky...