DM: Okay, Bret, roll a 14 or better to save vs. death.
Bret: (rolls dice)... Oh, darn, I only got a ten.
DM: A zombie rips your arm from its socket as a horde of its comrades kneel down to feast on your innards. Be thankful that there won't be enough left of you to reanimate...
Bret: What?! I'm dead?! But I just rolled up that character.
DM: Them's the apples.
Bret: Well, shucks. Okay, new character... (rolls dice)...
DM: No more Black Berets!!!!