I have found that in 102% of all cases (with a 2% margin of error) that when you put someone's keys on a fire, you're asking for trouble. They'll turn out to not belong to who you think they did, or you'll end up burying them deep in the ash and coals when you try to retrieve them, or in 102% of all cases, both. I'm trying too hard, I care too much. Leave them there. ...Well I'd fished them out, long story, only minor burns, but I'm sorely tempted to go and put them back in; more trouble than they're worth (have you ever tried selling keys? Unless you know what they're for and can promise the strange man with the stripy sack and a doctor's note that the key opens something valuable then he's not going to buy it off you. Even if you can promise him that, it means sorting out contracts, lawyers, reading and re-reading stuff and I can't be doin' wid all that).
Whose keys? No easy answer I'm afraid, cos that'd mean telling the truth, and as all you fine upstanding children know, truth sucks. If you must know, look for the man with the slimy grey paste covering a key-shaped burn on his hand. And who's that? Thinking quickly and boringly I'd have to say Sigmund Freud. It symbolises his slimy grey penis y'see. I suppose that makes me a time traveller or something strange like that, or just a liar. Being a time traveller is a terrible strain, but it does mean you can steal the keys of the next door neighbour of a famed psychiatrist and burn them, then realise that you've actually stolen the next door neighbour's next door neighbour's keys (or more concisely Sigmund Freud's keys) and you've gotta... well you know the rest: that 102% thing.
Who wouldn't pick on Sigmund Freud's neighbour as the target of all the practical jokes they can muster up using a time machine? She's such a meaningless and almost random choice for my petty vindictiveness that it makes it all the more funny. Cling film over the toilet bowl works so much better when no-one knows what cling film is, a dinosaur sedated using modern medicine and then left to awaken in late 19th Century Vienna is a cracking laugh, and best of all putting her keys in the fire because it's the last place she'd ever think to look for them just gets me chortling like a wheelie every time. Oh and razor blades in apples are a little cruel, but always good for a laugh.
With all that power at my fingertips, how could I be anything other than petty and meaningless? What's the point of jumping from life to life, striving to quote TV series when I could piss people off? I'm more than capable of getting a medical degree and travelling back in time to wherever there are people diseased, or perhaps have a boat and save people from drowning, or just kill the Japanese butterfly. There's so much I could do with my ability to time travel (I would tell you how I do it, but I can't remember), but that'd be too sci-fi-y. Irritating people for no reason is timeless, it requires no thought, it helps if it isn't funny (see above, and apologies for that), it just wastes your time and theirs even though it's timeless. Dang, that sort of meaningless, contradictory stuff rocks. If I were Pope I'd insist that everyone work as hard as they can to piss people off, but I'd also do everything I could to stop AIDS too. Like a nipple I can be both funny and serious.
(Can I just be honest for a moment? I think I've lost it. I've lost the hunger, the desire, the urge. I want to sleep. I suppose if I made an effort something might happen. Gimme a moment, eh? Oh maybe it's intentionally bad. Yeah that's it, you just don't get the joke; it's over your head, midjet).