Well, you've gone and fallen through the bottom of your shoes into the Shadow Realm again. Ain't that just your luck?
You were telling Father Skeeter at the Pray-and-Pump the other day about the last time the fabric between dimensions wore thin at the exact spot of the soles of your cross-trainers and you spent a thousand lifetimes in fiery torment at the non-existent mercy of a horde of elder demons.
"Never again," you told the old petroleum padre. "Next paycheck, I'm coming down to have you bless my sneakers, pastor. I am not going through that again."
You didn't follow through, though, because you're a god dang procrastinator. So here you are, boiling in a pot of your own blood while a laughing demon stirs with a spoon that screams detailed stories of your wife having sex with other men. Rats.