Then I went inside, and I started hearing screams from outside -- at first I tried to shrug them off, but then I remembered being on the back porch and I couldn't put it out of my mind and I begged my dad to go with me to see if someone was being hurt. He refused, insisted that they were just having fun, and I ran towards the door but stopped halfway and beat my fists on the wall, screaming and crying. My parents asked why I wasn't going after all, and I said that I couldn't because I didn't have a gun -- if only I had a pistol I would, but I could do nothing with my bare hands to help anyone. They told me that they were impressed that I ran for the front door because they kept the shotgun on the porch (which I did not know).
Then the scene changed and for some reason I was having sex with Britney Spears -- not for my own pleasure but because I felt sorry for her, since she'd never had an orgasm with her husband. So I gave her one. Very strange because I don't think she's attractive and I never think about her.