Primordial

and Oh I have an idea. 'This is going to piss everybody off so badly.' I think to myself, turning to grab my speaker off the bench behind me, and then cranking the dumbwaiter back down to me and putting my speaker in with the food and the flowers, before sending it back upstairs and finding the perfect song to wake Personal up with. After I've settled on a song ('Brat Boy' by Blue Franklin) I make sure its at exactly the right level with the first floor, which involves me sticking my head into the shaft while balancing on one foot so I can stretch far enough to look up. When I press play, I hear a massive crash above me- not a good crash either. Not Personal throwing something at the noise being played, but the sound of something massive crashing through the walls of the house and into my waffles.

There are some lines you shouldn't cross, and messing with another person's waffles is one of them. Grabbing a cast iron frying pan and heading for the door, I am fully prepared to murder whomever dared to hurt my rainbow waffles. They did nothing wrong. But before I can make it to the door, I slip over and fall painfully on my ass, pan falling terrifyingly close to my head.

Getting back up very awkwardly and finding myself even more covered in flour than before, covering me in a sheet of white and looking like a ghost. I grin and head for the door, pan back in my hand and grabbing a long knife as well in my other hand. How I intend to use them while on crutches... I do not know. I think I can throw the knife with some kind of accuracy and just whack someone with the pan if they get too close to me. Which is certainly violent enough to make my bloodthirsty little brain happy. Throwing open the front door, which still won't lock properly, I'm confronted by one of the weirdest sighs I've seen in my life. A brown pickup truck is parked in front of the house, and on the cargo bed is a medieval cannon, which seems to be still smoking from the cannonball it just fired into my house. Which makes me so goddamn mad. This is my house and I am the one that gets to shoot at it every so often, goddamnit! And with that in mind... I choose violence and launch the knife as fast as I can at the passenger side of the truck- it goes through the window, smashing it into tiny shards of shining crystal, and it makes a loud thunk as it hits something- something presumably not part of a human as nobody started screaming in pain after being hit with a steak knife. Which is disappointing. Whoever shot my house with a cannon definitely deserves a knife to some part of their body. But I still have a frying pan and I do not know how to use it. (As a weapon. I can cook with it perfectly fine)

So it's time to confront the people with the cannon. On second thoughts... maybe not my best idea. But I'm committed now, and there's too much adrenaline in my veins to let the voice of reason win. One crutch I almost decide to drop, but then think better of it, and throw it like a spear towards the truck, where it misses and bounces harmlessly off the sides of the cargo bed and hits the ground with a clatter. I almost decide to stop my slow charge towards the enemy, but then I hear somebody else opening the front door and following me out- good to know I'll have backup with me any second now. Two more paces until I get to the truck- a shadow falls behind me and I hear running. I guess they must not want me to do any fighting since I'm hurt. Well, suck it up. Nobody gets to shoot my house without getting hit with a frying pan. One more pace- I raise the pan, prepared to knock out my enemy or die trying.