At around 9:54 PM on Saturday, my family and I were pulling into the driveway after having dinner. We opened the garage and I immediately started smelling something weird. My instincts told me that my dad farted, which wasn't the case. I put my key into the lock and opened the door. It was like potheads ransacked our house. It smelled even worse. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. My mom quickly went to the stove to turn it off, but the damage was done. Why in God's name would she turn the stove on before we went out to eat? As my mind pondered this, my dad, on que, starting cussin up a storm, as the hipsters say these days. I went upstairs to open some windows and turn on some fans, but began feeling...Intoxicated. Perhaps the potheads really did ransack our house! As I fall to the ground due to smoke inhalation, the ground seemed to fall from under me. Somehow, I have fallen down the stairs! My life began to flash before my eyes. That sexual experience with the Denny's waitress started coming back to me. I got a woody and realized I had so much to live for, so I sobered up and hung onto the rails of the stairs. Unfortunately, they broke. Stupid me. Now I sit here penniless and destitute to pay for breaking something that wasn't my fault. Meanwhile my mom got off scott-free. Lucky her. I cannot escape the smell. I fear my mind has suffered as consequence to my mother's actions. Of course, how could she forget to turn off the stove!