Tiffany had not fallen asleep, as some thought. It was an effective ploy to lull those Wombles into a false sense of security. Instead, she raced past them (much to their surprise) and out the door again.
Quickly grabbing a hand grenade from her purse (don't ask why...she is always prepared) and pulled the pin.
"ROTTER...MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS!" she yelled. He had six seconds, she reckoned, then tossed the grenade inside.
The following explosion sent Fucking Rotter flying like a ragdoll, landing on Tiffany with a thud. Both were dazed, a bit worn but alive.
As for the Wombles, who knew? Those rascals were crafty--indeed.
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