when you pry the spatula from my cold, dead hands

Um. So J and I were horsing around, with him trying to get to the unbaked cookie dough on the counter and me trying to prevent him from going through the kitchen door, and when I succeeded in smacking him back against the living room wall, his elbow went through the window. It's a surprisingly thin window, which explains a lot about my heating bills in the winter. Now I have to call my apartment's handyman and see how long it's going to take him to come replace the damn thing.

The moral of the story is: if the host says "don't eat my cookie dough raw, motherfucker", you don't eat the raw cookie dough. Motherfucker.