Seriously?

What are you, like, a Nyquil Alcoholic? What the hell, man? Who does that? Puts their clothes in a fireplace? How could that be a good idea? You gotta WEAR that shit at some point and... oh, man, look at that, there's, like, soot and ashes in your underwear, and... I don't know. I seriously don't know.

NOW what are you... hey, hey, putting them in there was stupid enough, pushing them around with the fire tongs, what's even the point of that? What, just 'cause something's in a fireplace, you gotta treat it like kindling? Has it occurred to you that you are NOT MAKING A FIRE?!

Look at you. Just look at yourself, just standing there grinning like some kind of Republican idiot, staring at your filthy, useless clothes in the fireplace. What are you going to wear tomorrow, Mr. Smart Guy?

What? Oh, hey, what are you... are you STRIPPPING? Are you putting the clothes you were wearing in the fireplace? WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR DAMAGE, YOU MENTAL PATIENT?

Okay, I can't do this, this isn't even fun anymore. You ruined it. With your stupid ass choice. "The fireplace" Jesus Toast. Okay, okay, fine, a, what, a... some kind of fire demon lives in the fire place or no, wait, a ghost, see, 'cause this is a ghost story, see, I can make an effort even if you can't. Okay, so this ghost of a little boy who caught on fire when he was toasting marshmallows in THIS VERY FIREPLACE appears to you, looking all gloomy and ghosty and sad and shit, and then fire comes out of his mouth and eyes and you burn to death right where you stand.

Happy now?

START AGAIN, CRISPY CRITTER!