When you wake up from a horrible farming accident that, in all honesty, should have ended your life, it's fairly likely that you wouldn't give that response of all things. However, this particular farmer had woken up to an eldritch horror slobbering over his tractor in an island of rot amongst clouds of miasma and pestilience.
Naturally, it took the poor man a moment for his brain to fully comprehend what he was seeing, as to the extent of his knowledge, farming accidents only rarely sent you alternate planes of reality, if at all. However, he was also not a stupid farmer, and knew that the terrifying abomination of whatever nature this plane of existence had was probably not especially friendly.
The unfortunate bugger backed away slowly, a few centimetres at a time, for about twenty minutes. By this time the poor sap had finally realized that there was no way in hell he was going to wrap his ead around what was going on for now, so he resolved to return to his house, which he prayed was still in existence.
After having this thought, of course the next thing he did was check for the monster of wood and metal that previously stood there, and finally something went his way, it was still there. Albeit it look a shade more run down than it did in his realm of living, but it was fine otherwise. The distraught man began moving towards his house, luckily for us, a bit faster than before, and soon enough he was standing in front of his porch, having managed to get there without disturbing the thing whose image he had blotted out from his memory.
Smiling in a slightly tired way, he began trudging up the steps to his front door.
A man's home is his castle
He thought, sure that he would find some way out of this mess within.
He opened the door, and barely registered the large baseball bat poised to bash in his head before he was out like one of those old, non-economic lightbulbs that he used to light his shed.