In through the door, out through the window

Bill came through the door and immediately fell on the mat. He found that he couldn't move and lay distressed upon the mat. The mat said "wlecome" on it, though Bill didn't feel that welcome. This feeling heightened through the day, reaching a head at around five forty.

The door creaked open, allowing in the man of the house, Dave. Dave saw Bill lying there and took a deep breath that utterly failed to compose his aspect. He spat his breath out like a bullet. "Not again. Not a-fucking-gain. You have got to be fucking joking?"

Bill said nothing. He couldn't. The next thing he knew he was being lifted into the air like he weighed nothing. He felt himself carried into the living room. Dave threw him onto the coffee table, which wonderously didn't break. Dave sat and fumed audibly. Then he said, "You're going where you belong, mate."

Again, Bill felt himself lifted and flung through the window. He wasn't sure if he was lucky that the garbage cushioned his fall. He didn't feel lucky finishing in the gutter.