With every swift motion of her hand grazing my face, I felt the finger nails scrape my cheek. As soon as I came to grip with reality, I flipped her off of me -- after all, she is way lighter than I am, and men tend to have more strength behind them than women do weight. From out of left field, Misihaka (who I only knew because of his name tag placed so elegantly on his button up white collar shirt) tossed The Night Bringer a pencil sharpener that fit those large round pencils. You know what I'm talking about...

Misihaka: "You win match now! Office get too to'e up! You finish now or pay fo' all! Five dolla!"

Rusty Longbottom: "Demonica! We need to get out of here before I die! These Japs are nuts!"

She seemed to have a little bit more to worry about that Rusty's safety at that point -- for she wanted me dead, it seemed. Now, before I continue with the story, I have never been a woman beater. I have never striked a woman... aside from this match. The fact of the matter is, Demonica Vile put herself in a situation to be treated like a man would be treated -- and as far as I was concerned, Demonica wasn't a female at all anyway. She was a demon whore.

Anyway, I swung at her. My middle and ring knuckles barely grazed her jaw line but still seemed to have done the job. She rocked backwards and quickly covered her now bloody mouth with her hands -- oddly enough in prayer formation. With one quick thought I leaped in to the air and dropkicked the Princess of the Damned, jerking her body back in to the cracked window, thus cracking it more -- but not yet shattering it.

Toshiba: "Use glass to cut ugly man!"

Misihaka: "No! Bash ova head with pencil sha'pena!"

Akiyama: "End match! No fun to watch anymo'e!"

It wasn't fun for me to be in anymore. I had no intentions on going in to this match and getting defeated. Especially from the spawn of Satan. Her bloody mouth and grimace plastered over her face made the situation a hell of a lot more intimidating and grueling. The woman was a menace that had to be controlled. She rushed in at me and bashed me in the forehead with the pencil sharpener... she was truly faster than I was.

"What the **** is going on?", I questioned myself. Everything seemed to become more sharp and monotonous. As if my world was a black and white cartoon.

There was no telling what happened. Demonica and I, along with the rest of the visible world had thick black outlines, black, white, and gray colors, and no variation whatsoever -- there wasn't even any shading, which made things all the more odd. The black-ish colored blood drizzling from her mouth made her that much more grotesque as she continuously bashed me over the head with the pencil sharpener. It seemed to have been her weapon of choice for the time being.

All of this slowed down, however, when she realized that I was inching closer and closer to possibly sliding in to a coma. I was unresponsive. So she did what she felt (at the time) was the best move for her to make -- placed the middle finger of my right hand in to the sharpener, and quickly turned it. Now, seeing as how I was unable to directly react to something of this nature, it just kind of happened without me doing anything. And when she took the sharpener off? My finger was merely a bone.

Perry Diamond: *vomit*

Rusty Longbottom: *vomit*

Japanese Workers: *vomit*

PAGE 6