“You have a flamethrower?!”
“Yes I do.”
“Do you think that might be useful, given the current circumstances?” Mr Enthusiasm manages somehow to sound incredulous, enthusiastic, and confused all at the same time. “You know. Encased in ice. Giant mutant snowman. About to die.”
“Now that you mention it…” The flamethrower embedded in my forearm roars its sweet song, like a rampaging torrent of fire on its way to some kind of really hip party. The ice falls from my body as though it were never there, or as though it is on its way to some kind of really hip party.
It seems the snowman may have noticed us. I deduce this because of my superhuman brain power, and because it seems to be charging headlong for us like an enraged buffalo. Roooooooar says the ten foot tall giant mutant snowman as it lets loose a powerful blast of ice...