She did a lovely spinning roundhouse kick to his face, immediately bursting open his disgustingly Botoxed lips and allowing yellowy-red crap to run free and dribble miserably onto the fake white tiger rug they had only just finished bonking on.
She stepped into the house, closed the door, slipped off her shoes, walked straight to her room and flopped down onto the bed, immediately being blown upward in pieces to splatter all over the ceiling and rain down again, her gore, bones and shreds of flesh mingling hopelessly with the fragments of landmine and the smell of cordite.
He had ravenously sunk his gnashers into the raw, sun-warmed meat having barely looked at it and knowing that it was likely to have patches of rot in it. Sure enough, after one rather tasty mouthful, he bit into another part and immediately blanched as rancid juices diffused into his mouth. He had told himself that he would overpower his gag reflex through force of will, but the actual taste was truly shocking, and no sooner had a little of the green foulness seeped onto the back of his tongue than his body took charge, squeezing his stomach upward and hurling forth everything he had consumed in the last two hours, including, of course, the foot that he had sawn and ripped from the putrescent calf that he now held in his quivering hands.
Suddenly the wrapping paper, the champagne, the excitement and the excess of roughage all got to him, and he flopped out a hot, brown Christmas present right onto the floor, where it was immediately trodden on and tramped around the house before anyone realised.
It sucked that he had just been shot in the head, but it wasn’t killing him quite as immediately as he had expected, and he had time to relax his muscles down below and let out that big fart that had been coming anyway. And, just as the final blackness closed in on him, he thought he felt his whole colon discharging. Pppfffffrrrrtttttbbllblbbllbbblllbbb.