Our hero stood blocking the doorway, holding nothing but a wrench and a bottle of jam.
"This is gonna hurt," ran through his mind. "It's gonna hurt a whole lot."
The werecows began charging towards him. The thunderous noise rattled through his head. Rage began to build and he gritted his teeth. There was no escaping it now, the time for running was long gone.
"C'mon you fuckers!" he yelled, "I'm gonna give yas a lickin' like nothin' before!"
The immediate problem with werecows is tainted milk squirting from their engorged udders. Not only does it cause agonizing pain and blindness, but it smells like the dickens. And no one, not even our hero, wants to smell that bad before an annual general meeting.
Given the seriousness of the situation, grenades were the order of the day.
