Hell hath no fury

This is a fictional poem.

Hell hath no fury like a woman with PMS.

It's that time of the month and I'm in distress.

I'm hiding in the bedroom and it's a good thing that the door is latched.

My wife poured a gallon of gasoline over my head and lit a match.

It's times like these that make me regret that I even know her.

When I asked what's for dinner, she came at me with a flamethrower.

My head and torso are covered with burns that are third degree.

She's trying to chop down the door, somebody please help me!

I need somebody's help and I'm prepared to beg.

I just jumped out the window and broke my legs.

When it comes to my wife's PMS, I never win.

I don't mind my injuries just as long as I never see her again.