Dysfunctional Home Burglary

         “Holy Santa Clause, this lady's house is nice!”

         “Yeah, that's why we broke in; to steal her nice stuff,”

         “Oh, that makes sense. I thought it was because they had a '98 mustang for sale in the front yard,”

         “What? Why would that ever be a deciding factor?”

         “Hey, have you seen one of those things? It's an era car—3.6 liter V6? C'mon, that's just raw American power,”

         “Shut up no that's not why we're robbing this house,”

         “Then why are we robbing it, again?”

         “Because it's nice, you idiot,”

         “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part,”

         “I cannot believe I'm forced to work with you, Clive,”

         “Oh, you think I like this arrangement, Nancy? You smell like a trucker for chrissake!”

         “That's because I have a benign cyst on my back, Herr Arschloch,”

         “Yeah, well whatever it is, it's disgusting,”

         Clive and Nancy stood in the stranger's living room, both equally annoyed with one another, searching for the most expensive-looking things to steal.

         “Alright Clive, I'm gonna look upstairs for some sort of lock box or safe or something,”

         “K.k.k. , Nancy. I'm gonna look in the... kitchen. Hopefully there'll uh.. be something nice to steal in there,”

         “The kitchen? Why not search the basement? There's bound to be a big T.V. or something down there!”

         “Well, maybe there's some rare herbs and/or spices in the kitchen! You didn't think about that, did you, Nancy?”

         “There's not going to be any fancy herbs or spices in the kitchen,”

         “Hey... You don't know,”

         “Whatever, Clive. I'll meet you in the kitchen in a half hour, okay?”

         “Sure, fine, whatever, I don't care,” Nancy headed upstairs and immediately found a jewelry box which showed promise. It took her a good ten minutes to pick the lock, but her labors were rewarded with a gorgeous silver watch, a set of diamond earrings, and a priceless, Swiss-made belt buckle. As she tucked the items away in her rucksack, she heard a clamor coming from downstairs. Thinking quickly, she bolted downstairs to get Clive.

         Walking into the kitchen, Nancy was greeted by Clive. Clive was without pants, and the kitchen was in total chaos; silverware was strewn about, the refrigerator was toppled over, every single paper towel roll had been unraveled across the floor. “What the Fuck, Clive!”

         “This—this isn't what it looks like, it's not my fault. Well, some of it is my fault, but—“

         “What, so this place is haunted, and ghosts came in here from the grave to destroy this lady's kitchen?”

         “Well, obviously, Nancy! I mean, there couldn't be another explanation unless you think I could have done something like this! Oh, and ghosts don't rise from the dead, I think you're thinking of zombies”

         “I do think you could have done something like this. In fact, I think you did exactly this,”

         “Nancy, c'mon! Search your feelings. You know that it was ghosts or zombies or whatever that did this,”

         “Ghosts. And my feelings are telling me that you are an asshole, and that you made this mess,”

         “Pfffffft. Nancy, okay I'll tell you the truth, but you're not going to like it. Do you want to know how this happened?”

         “Yes, Clive. Please enlighten me,”

         “Nancy, I made this mess. It was me,”

         “I know, you blithering idiot! But how did it happen?”

         “Oh. I dunno. I sorta blacked out for a few minutes there. Have you seen my pants?”

         “God, Damn It, Clive! Every time we try and do this! Every fucking time we try and rob a house you black out and ruin everything!”

         “Not every time! Just this time, last time, and the time before that. Oh, and I think there might have been another time, but I can't remember. Hey, do y—“

         “Shut. The fuck. Up. We're leaving. We're supposed to be inconspicuous, remember?”

         “Yeah but—“

         “Not a word,”

         “But Nancy, I can't find my pants!”

         “I don't care. I'm never going to care. Now get your ass into that van or I will shove all of this silverware down your throat!”

         “That seems a little drastic, don't you think?”

         “Shut up,”

         “But can we at least take the Mustang with us?”

         “STOP TALKING,”

         “I will. But not because you're telling me to. Because I want to,”

         “Go to hell,”