I hope she hits you over the head and knocks you out. When you wake up you are naked, gagged and bound in the bottom of a pit and your eyes snap open just in time to see her dumping buckets of rotted chef boyardee products on you. Imagine it panztard, buried alive in decomposing beefaroni and overstuffed ravioli. Drowning in rancid third rate tomato paste. Your last living sensation is that of inhaling moldy spaghetti o's,