You fling open the door, a weapon in each of your hands and feet (not to mention the “belt of sharp sticks” you’ve got protecting the middle-areas).

“HA!” you yell, towards the ground where Furboa usually is. The only reason he’s survived this long is usually he has some awful board game in his hands that he uses as a shield....even if you haven’t gotten Furboa yet, at LEAST you destroyed his copy of “The Backstreet Boys Trivia Game.”

Instead of seeing furry little feet, you see shiny black metal shoes and ankle socks bunched around old-lady feet.

“AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” screams the nun as she bolts down the street carried by the power of the lord, or perhaps just adrenaline.

While you feel kinda bad about scaring the crap out of a sweet old nun, you can’t help but giggle at the nun-chucks in your right hand. “Guess they work!”

Just as you get your giggle fit under control a poorly recreated digital version of the Monkees theme song begins to blare through your one bedroom apartment.

“Funny,” you think outloud, since that’s what most people do in these stories, “my phone is set to play Debussy...”

You follow the sound around your apartment and finally locate a black blueberry, or a blue blackberry, or a orange banana whatever the hell kind of electronic fruit name that’s so expensive I’ve purposely never learned it.

This is NOT your phone.

You look at the face of it and see that the call is coming in as “unavailable.” It’s rude to pick up a stranger’s phone so you sigh a breath of relief when the theme song finishes it’s second lesser known verse.

“Strange, I don’t let people in my apartment. I wonder who’s phone this could be.”

Just as you are about to flush it down the toliet, you know to avoid that awkwardness of having to talk with your neighbors, digital Davy Jones attacks you once more.