I shot my best friend Rex.
It was an accident, I swear.
Besides, he’s fine.
The bullet missed anything important.
And the surgeons got the bullet out.
He keeps the bullet in a glas jar on his shelf.
And he’s always showing people his scar.
“This is where my best friend shot me,” he says.
So, why did I shoot him?
There wasn’t a reason. None at all.
We were shooting at beer cans on a fence, and he held up a can and…
Hey, it was his idea. And he wanted to use shotguns.
Imagine that mess, right?