Exploding head syndrome- KABOOM!:

“Did I tell you to make it part of your very public blog?” she asked and I had to admit that it was due to my own stupidity that the world now knew that I had the dreaded M. I could hear my eggs shrivelling up and calling for help. I did not want any more children, so why on earth was I feeling sad about the approach of the dreaded M?
“It’s the loss of the possibility of having a child,” said the muse, once more in her intelligent Einstein phase. I was starting to feel warm and fuzzy towards her; she understood after all.
“Imagine two more of you running around and driving us all to drink?” she said, rolling her eyes.
“What is wrong with being a little eccentric?” I could feel the heat rising in my neck and settling in my cheeks. Due to the chaotic pole dancing of my hormones, anger came easily, bouts of crying was a close second. She of the bounteous bust took one look at me and bounded (the walls shook and bits of plaster cascaded form the ceiling) to the light switch. With a smirk she turned on the ceiling fan and whistled loudly. A white elephant appeared which duly flapped his large ears at her command. A cool breeze floated across my burning cheeks.
“Have you no sympathy woman?” I asked, “Just wait until you find yourself in this same aging boat.” By this time I was livid, the roots of my hair had turned red and smoke escaped the top of my head. If I was a cartoon character, you would have heard a loud, echoing whistle as I let off steam.
“Everyone, dive for cover!” she shouted. “Her head is about to explode- go to code red immediately! She is about to give new meaning to the phrase waking up with a bang!”
“Once again…NOT FUNNY!”
“Run for your lives!” This was the last thing I heard before a loud explosion filled the room.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exploding_head_syndrome

Exploding lard

“Don’t blame me for your chaotic thoughts. I am not the one allowing them free rein in that oddly misshapen egg you call a head. For the sake of my sanity put on a different thinking cap,” she spat.
“You are what you think, you know,” was the sage advice that was pounded into me, word for word, by a pudgy finger.
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered, flapping my arm-wing futilely. The very moment I completed the gesture, the realisation that it had been the wrong thing to do in the mood she was in, hit me like a runaway quidditch ball. Where the hell was Harry Potter when you needed him anyway?
“Well, I never…,” she said and I could see the mercury in her anger thermometer rise to dangerous levels. She was about to blow and pieces of lard would be whizzing around at the speed of light. Perhaps it was time for a sturdy helmet and not one of the several dozen thinking caps I had collected over the years. Unfortunately, everyone in the known universe would be picking up the pieces for weeks. Lard refineries would be springing up all over the place and the earth would be covered in a thick layer of hazy smoke. Visiting aliens would choke and post a notice in the Milky Way which would read: Beware; this is a lard-assed planet! Intruders will be melted down and used as lip balm for the many-mouthed, slimy Octolupians. (I just made this up, there is no such race…or is there? Nope, just Googled it.)