I'm not sure, but the sound of two bloody stumps hitting each other is sadly pathetic.

    You see no signs that your sarcastic gesture came across as intended to the evil-twin bastard you.

    Still chuckling evily, he whacks you up-side the head with the broad-side of the battle axe.

    You go flying out the kitchen window (that you so recently installed yourself!) and land out in the mulch pile in the back yard.

    You black out.

    ...

    You regain consciousness again an indeterminate amount of time later.  You feel remarkably defenestrated.

    You see an old man coming toward you with a pitchfork in hand.  Poppy!

    Perhaps you'll be saved!

    As he comes closer, he point the sharp prongs of the pitchfork at you and speeds up.

    "Wait a second," you think.  "Poppy doesn't wear a yellow rain slicker..."

    You are stabbed in the gut moratlly.
 

Your final score is:

13428