Dude tried to break into my house.

He was convinced my name is Roy. My name is not Roy. It was his 21st birthday. The breaker-inner's, not Roy's.

I've been fortunate never to have had my home broken into. When I was a senior some guy came up to my apartment thinking Carlos lived there. There was no one named Carlos in the house, but that's alright I guess.

I broke into someone's house my junior year of high school in order to watch Pink Flamingos. No one wanted their parents to know they were watching the movie so we broke into our friend's place because his parents were out of town. He wasn't home either. When he came home he rushed downstairs to find us watching chickens being fucked.

My girlfriend had her home broken into when she lived on the Reservation. This was before I lived with her. They threw her bras around the bed and wrote gang symbols on her walls and stole all the batteries and battery chargers from the house. That battery schtick is from a Dane Cook routine. I want to write Dane Cook a letter letting him know that he has fans on the Rosebud Rez. I wonder if he will be happy to know that.