You know, I think it's about time you and I compared notes.  Cards on the table, so to speak.

Heh, sure is nice not to still be breaking everything. That totally sucked!

Uh, and lemme just say for the record - I don't own a gun. Don't listen to what that guy who looked like me said.

--ve of FUCK are you doing?!

[This voice is loud but somehow muted, like it's speaking from behind the cover of a mask or thick blanket. It's accompanied by a sound strangely reminiscent of fabric rustling over a microphone -- probably because that's exactly what's happening.]

Dude.

[Then the sound a table makes when it scoots across a floor.]

DUDE.

[The sound of flesh-on-flesh in the form of slapping.]

Stop! Wh----HEY.

Don't just come up and try to pull my fucking clothes off!

[A seething hiss, almost snake-like in quality.]

Shit.

Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me -- DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME THERE, EITHER. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK 'DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME' MEANS? YOU THINK THAT'S A FREE LICENSE TO FUCKING TOUCH ME, BECAUSE SURPRISE! IT'S NOT. LET G-

[Then a thump! followed by the sound of something scraping against a wall. Shortly afterward, the audio dies.]