The Elk emerged from his Honda Civic like Ace Ventura from a rhino's vagina. As he thundered to the curb the car leapt into the air, relieved of its burden. Sweatily, he lumbered towards the door. As the doorbell rang, time slowed. Inside the home a family sat down to Sunday dinner.
Suddenly a chill ran through the air as tremors from the porch resonated through the home. "Goddamnit!" exclaimed the father. "Not this fucker again. I'll handle it, honey."
As he approached the door he could hear the familiar wheezing, not unlike a beached whale. It enraged him. Gathering his anger he opened the door.
"You motherfucker! I told you the past 17 times. I AM NOT GOING TO SHARE MY HAM SUPPLIER WITH YOU. Now go to hell, asshole!"
"Please Geoff, I need it. The grocer only carries so much ham."
"GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH!"
The door slammed shut. Geoff went back to his ham dinner.
The Elk waddled back to his Honda in defeat. In every way like a noble stag defeated by a superior specimen, except for the nobility and superiority. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Next time, Mike. Next time I'll get that ham," he thought to himself.
The Civic groaned under the weight as it pulled into the night.