Attracted by the commotion, Pauleen, your old flame from downstairs stands at the top of the steps in full karate attire, complete with black belt. Her mouth is agape and her eyes move between the pulpy, shuddering mess on the floor and you.
"What the Hell is wrong with you!?" she screams, in that dog-whistle voice of hers that you could tolerate until the day she dumped you.
Fueled by a potent combination of adrenaline, fury at the sudden appearance of your ex and an animal desire to establish your dominance over the apartment building, you charge at Pauleen with a wild battle cry.
She shifts into a defensive position, blocking your right hook with her left arm and jabs you in the chest with her right hand. Her light strike is enough to knock you backwards and before you can fall, a Chuck Norris style roundhouse kick collides with your face and a blinding flash explodes in your vision. You hear a sickening crunch under your skin but don't feel it until after you drop to the floor.
"GAH! Jesus Chrissssst!" you yell, curling into a ball around your bleeding, broken nose. But you can't give up now. You can't let her win again. You stumble to your feet, blood streaming down your face. OK, you can do this! You're the Alpha Male!
You rush at your ex again. She blocks your first blow, but you catch her with a surprise knee to the stomach. She stumbles backwards, a brief look of shock crossing over her face before it's replaced with...
Oh, shit. You know that look. Her upper lip curls, her eyes squint and her nostrils flare. It is a look that resulted in a three-day stay in intensive care and gave whole new meaning to the term "break up."
All sense of manliness drains from your body and you turn and dart back towards your apartment. The thump of bare feet on hard floor follows close behind you. You dive through the door, slamming it. But it collides with something soft and you look up to see a white robed arm sticking in through the crack.
With a bloodcurdling scream that mingles with the wail of sirens outside, Pauleen barrels through the door, sending shards of splintered wood flying. You scramble away on your hands and knees, but she catches your ankle, digging her nails into your flesh.
You scramble harder, pulling at the cracks in the floor and manage to free yourself, leaving four strips of skin under Pauleen's blood-painted nails. You get to your feet and sprint into the kitchen. Not the brightest idea, considering there's no door to at least temporarily block the onslaught of your bloodthirsty ex. Dirty dishes are being slowly overtaken by mold in the sink and you glance about desperately for something useful. A block of knives catches your attention first, then the window above the kitchen sink. Your eyes move back and forth between fight and flight and you can't decide which would be wiser. Just then, Pauleen explodes through the doorway, eyes red with bloodlust. Her eyes flit about the kitchen.
"God! You're a big a slob as ever!" she screams, "CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELLLLF!!!"
She charges at you like a mother rhino, grabbing the nearest lethal object: a greasy frying pan.