I was babysitting this girl the other day and she asked me if I knew that carpet was made out of plastic. I'm not sure if I know or don't know this, but it kind of made sense when I thought about this thing that once happened...
I was sitting on my bed in my room looking at this shoebox full of letters that I had kept from an old boyfriend and an old flame. Well, I was thinking about how big of jerks they were and how I hated all men and though they needed to burn in heck, so I decided I needed to think of a ritualistic way to dispose of these notes. Of course, clearly I was not thinking too rationally, because I thought the best idea was to set them on fire... in a shoebox... in the middle of my bed...
I think you see where this is going. So aflame they went! And as the fire blazed, I threw the box onto the floor. Smoke filled the room, my dad banged on the door and wiggled the handle, put the fire out and voila!- melted carpet and a hole in the middle of the floor. Well, Dad was irate, and I was clearly a moron, for not thinking that it was a bad idea... oh, hindsight, how you elude us all!!
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