-
Carrie, you’re killing me here.
-
What? You don’t like my song?
-
The chorus is a written confession.
-
No! Absolutely not, it’s a heartfelt commentary on —
-
And I quote, “I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four-wheel drive.”
-
It’s a metaphor.
-
Oh really? Because your ex’s insurance faxed over pictures along with the estimate of the damages, and Carrie, I’m afraid it’s got your name written all over it.
-
It could’ve been anyone!
-
No, you literally belted that you “carved [your] name into his leather seats.” C’mon Carrie, that evidence holds up in court.
-
It’s a coincidence for sure, but what if someone’s framing me, huh?
-
Carrie, they got witnesses saying you stormed into a Dick’s Sporting Goods and ran off with a Louisville slugger.
-
Hmmmm … witnesses, you say?
-
Yeah, that’s what I just said. Anyway, he’s pressing charges and demanding three times the value of all damages. Wait, Carrie, where did you just get that bat from!?
-
…
-
NO, DROP IT! DROP IT, CARRIE PLEASE, I’VE GOT A WIFE AND KI —
