What happens when you dance but you’ve got no pants and then you’ve got a fire in your pants and your legs burn and you’re scarred with awful 3^rd degree burns that ruin your chances for being a sock model (unless the socks are long enough that they cover the scars, which is unlikely) and you feel desperate so you go light your dog’s pants on fire and it’s not until it’s too late that you realize that your dog isn’t wearing any pants so in truth you set your dog on fire and the police come and the firemen come and the animal police come and you’re forced to “spread ’em, punk!” in front of the whole neighborhood who has just come to the conclusion that you’re some awful dog-burning pantsless hooligan and you’ve just realized that you don’t really care for chocolate ice cream?

Don’t even freakin’ ask, man. Don’t even freakin’ ask.