Anton Chekhov Didn't Have It Like This
an excerpt

Pushing on the armrests, he got up and walked to the corner desk across the room. "If you'll excuse me, miss," he curtly replied. He pulled out the drawer and pinched some more tobacco from the opened packet inside, pressing it into the faint embers of his pipe.

Maybe if he smoked enough, she would tire of the smell and go away before his brains fell out. However there was no need, because his brain leaked out through his ears and landed on the carpet with a sickening wet splat.

Perhaps it was a good thing part of his brain was still stuck to his ear - it cushioned the blow of her bloodcurdling scream.