When I was about 2 or 3 years old, I'll admit that, like most kids, I was dumb as shit. But 2 year old me was a special kind of retarded, and you'll see why.

I was sitting at home one day, playing with my stuffed horse that I'd named Roscoe. It was around winter, so I was sitting next to a blazing fireplace. Back then, we didn't have any of those electric fireplaces that even the dumbest child couldn't fuck around with; it was one of those open fireplaces that you had to put real wood in and shit.

Evntually, I decided that Roscoe was cold. What better way to warm him up than to shove him in the fireplace? So of course, being the genius that I was, I tossed poor Roscoe into the fire. It was then that I realized that maybe that was a poor decision, so I ran outside, found two sticks, and used them to try and get Roscoe out. The good news was that I succeeded in removing him. The bad news was that he was on fire, and soon, so was the carpet I'd dropped him onto.

I tried blowing the fire away like you do with candles, but unsurprisingly, that doesn't work as well with entire carpets. The fire was starting to get closer to me, but I knew I'd fucked up and I didn't want my parents to find out, so I kept trying to fix everything. Luckily, my mom walked by and noticed that I'd almost set the house on fire.

911 was called, the fire department showed up, and they took care of the fire. The living room was that only place that was damaged because the fire didn't spread anywhere else, but holy shit were my parents pissed. I was pretty sad that Roscoe had been burnt to a crisp as well. My family still makes fun of me today for almost burning down the house because of a stuffed horse, but the good thing is that my parents bought me a real cat after the incident to replace Roscoe. I didn't throw the cat in a fire.