Graphic by Rebecca Birnbach
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 —
