I torched your signed football

Aww, dooode, fuck. I am so sorry. Look, if I shrug hard enough, it'll make it better, right? Sure it will. C'mon! I have boobs! It's fun to watch me shrug. No?

Hey. While you were out shopping, I went to your house. I saw you weren't there so I almost left. Then I thought, "Oh shit, what if he's in there, tied up or being raped?!" I rushed in and saw nothing. So I had some friends over. We torched your football. Yeah, that one. The one signed by Tom Brady. But he sucks, so we're cool, right?

...No? Well, fuck you then. I did it all for you. That ball was only getting more dusty day by day and I thought you would appreciate some help.

We played with the football

We saw the football sitting there, getting lonely. We got it out and started to throw it. I was doing you a favor, really. Lonely footballs are known to start school shootings or rape presidents. John put it between his legs and pretended to get an erection. When we asked him what the hell was he doing, he said he was getting horny. That's right, John got horny (meaning he humped it and was turned on) with your football signed by Tom Brady. Well, don't get pissed at me! John was the one who humped the ball. Not me. We didn't try to stop him but we didn't encourage him to do it either. But don't worry bro cause Tom Brady sucks, right?

No, you suck.

But anyway, John was humping it and we were watching him do it, and we figured how mad you'd be if your football was missing. So we put it back in the glass case on its little stand. Yup. John humped the football signed by Tom Brady. Your football signed by Tom Brady. Your prized possession. Or did the football hump John? It will never be known. But the point is that your signed football was humped by John. Yup.

The football got torched

Dude, c'mon! Work with me here. I don't even know who Tom Brady is. My boobs interfere with my ability to remember stuff about ...sports.

So we played with it for a little while. I threw it to Nick. Yeah, that guy I met in Tahiti while breaking out of prison with an AK-47. Anyway, I threw it and missed, because, hello, I'm a chick, and chicks can't throw footballs, dude! And it landed in the fireplace. I took it out right away and put it in alcohol. But I didn't realize it was still on fire. So it lit the alcohol up pretty good. While we were chugging alcohol and watching your flaming football, John began humping it again.

We told him not to hump it. We said, "Who knows how many people have touched that football? You could get herpes or something. Plus, THE FUCKING THING IS ON FIRE!!" But no, he went and humped it.

So now, your football is no longer a virgin. John has herpes and a burned penis as well. Poor John. Poor football. Tom Brady sucks, so why the fuck does it matter? Oh, because you're a bitch.

I burned down your house

OK, I know it looks bad. But the key here is, DON'T PANIC. Two cans of paint and some new gutters and it's as good as new. I know a guy.

By the way, I tried to put out the fire with your curtains. It seemed like a good idea to me back then. Besides I didn't know where the fire extinguisher was, so I didn't try to put it out when the curtains caught fire. So the rest of your house pretty much got torched. It was pretty cool though. We all watched it from outside. Except John. He was too busy moaning about his torched pubes. Poor John. Oh, wait, I just remembered that the fire extinguisher was right next to the curtains. Yeah. It sort of exploded from the heat, but instead of putting the flames out, it just blew away all the drywall and exposed the studs and joists directly to the flames. Place went up like a motherfucker. Funny how science works, huh?

That wasn't your house?

What do you mean that wasn't your house? It had a signed football and everything. I saw it. John humped it. Unless it was a large block of Parmesan. Which would explain why we didn't smell any burning rubber. And why John's pubes are covered in melted cheese. Wow.

So, were's still cool, then? You think it's funny now that you know it wasn't your house, don't you? Laughing at somebody else's misfortune, huh? You bastard. Just kidding; I think it's funny, too.

I killed Johnny

I got mad at Johnny, so I whacked him in the face with my opium pipe. His brain flew right out of his head. It was pretty cool. Don't worry, I already sent the police your signed confession. So, can I borrow five bucks?

What? Hey man, why are you looking at me like that? I'm sure they'll think it's all a hilarious misunderstanding! Johnny wasn't exactly an A-student, and the fact that he'd been killing hobos and wearing their skin would probably put the cops in my favor, don't ya think? As for that house that burned, it's not like there was anyone inside...you know, other than that wasted chick that we took turns raping...and that baby. Whoopsie.

Whoa! A harpoon gun? Not cool, bro! C'mon, can't we talk this ou-