You lunge at Mike with the knife and miss. Michael, using one of his
tentacles, whips around and steals the butter knife from your hand and you
face him, defenseless.
"Tssk, Tsssk." he says, clicking one of his several tongues.
"You'll never get away with this," you bark boldly.
But at that instant, Michael's Martian ray strikes you in the face and you
are instantly turned into an insurance salesman, doomed to a life of quoting
Met Life brochures.
THE END.
