A crowded European terrace in which many tourists sit at dinner. Medieval church bells chime and doves flock about the rooftops as the sun sets in pink splendor. A mobile phone rings.
Tourist: What? WHAT? YOU FOUND WHAT? MY UNDERWEAR? YOU FOUND MY UNDERWEAR? WHERE? WHERE? WHERE DID YOU FIND IT? Oh, by the outdoor shower in the grass. Haha, is it clean? IS IT CLEAN? What do you mean, you don’t know? HAHA, I’M JUST KIDDING! NO, NO, DON’T SMELL IT! DON’T TOUCH IT. Oh, god, I couldn’t wear it again knowing you had touched it with your fingers. That’s where my balls go; I don’t want your hands anywhere near my balls. I said, I DON’T WANT YOUR HANDS ANYWHERE NEAR MY BALLS. I KNOW WE ARE FRIENDS, BUT. NO, REALLY, I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT YOU TOUCHING ANY PART OF WHERE MY BALLS GO. Maybe I can get them tomorrow. Just leave them where they are. I can come get them tomorrow. TOMORROW! Yes, in the grass. Just leave them in the grass. LEAVE THEM IN THE GRASS. NOT ASS, GRASS! GRASS, you ass! Haha. What? WHAT?
The end.