The maffia boss leans over the table. His victim can feel the knife pressed to his throat.
“Well,” the boss says in a voice almost a whisper, “Tell me everything!”
“Everything?” The victim says, almost crying.
“Everything!”

“…and on the sixth of May when I was in seventh grade, I tied the dog to a firework and then I lit it and, and, and it went like this. Neeeoooowwww, baaaang, woooooof, splat!”

“…then, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I stole the money. I couldn’t stop myself. The till was open. And then Mrs Nursery slapped me because us boys weren’t meant to play in the girl’s play shop.”

“…yes! Yes! I made the fake vomit and we went to the fair. And at the top of the big dipper I emptied the bag and made a noise like: Bleeeeeuggggh…”

“…and when I was fifteen. I, I stole from one of your boys shops.”
“Aha! What did you steal.”
“I took…”
“Yes!”
“I took…” he stutters, “A pot noodle!”

“…and I peeed in a bottle and sprinkled it on Mrs Parkinson’s pot pourri so all her house smelt like my dog…”