You die.

You ascend to the pearly gates. Saint Peter stands there, or the Islamic equivalent, whatever, holding a book with your record. He flips through it.

“Let’s see. Beat his wife and kids, no problem. Stole massive amounts of money, okay. Generally racist, shouldn’t be an issue. Killed a man in cold blood. It was a Jew, so no great loss. Wait. You used pork paintballs? Are you fucking kidding me?”

A hole opens beneath you. You fall straight to hell.