Living with Kyle was like living with a tornado that occasionally paid rent. He wasn’t a bad guy—just an absolute disaster.

One night, you were deep in thought, refining a complex algorithm on my laptop, when Kyle burst into the room, looking panicked.

“Dude, hypothetical question,” he started. “How flammable is spaghetti?”

You stared at him. “Not very… Why?”

He hesitated. “What if… it was on fire?”

You sighed, closing your laptop. “Kyle, what did you do?”

Long story short, he had tried to ‘speed-cook’ spaghetti by turning the stove burner up to max and, for some reason, adding oil. The result? A small fire, a lot of smoke, and Kyle standing there with a fire extinguisher, grinning like an idiot.

After the flames were out and the kitchen was only mildly ruined, Kyle turned to you. “So… pizza instead?”

You shook my head. “You’re a menace.”

But as you two sat on the couch later, eating delivery pizza and laughing, you realized—life was never boring with Kyle around.