Jizz Rag Smokes Pot, Burns Down Trailer

Cameron N.C.- Moore County Sheriff's Dept. officials have identified Jeff Hardy's loyal back pocket towel as the prime suspect in the arson of the wrestler's double-wide abode last week. In an exclusive interview with Arabian Facebuster, the rouge terrycloth shares shocking secrets of drug addled depravity and details of the blazing inferno that may well spell the end of his illustrious career.

Speaking to this reporter in exchange for a crumpled Ziploc baggie of "dank bud" and a 32 ounce bottle of Downy fabric softener, Hardy's towel hazily recalled their heady early days. "I first met Jeff back in '98, while hanging out in a pile of rags behind Mean Gene's Burgers in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Jeff was blowing a doob and I asked if he could hook a brother up. " An illustrious (and co-dependent) alliance was soon to blossom- born of sacrifice, determination, and bong load after bong load of "the most fucking amazing chronic" .

As he Flippity-Flopped his way to the top of the WWE's mid-card, the excesses of Hardy's marijuana consumption were topped only by his insatiable appetite. "At one point, we owed Popeye's Chicken over $30,000" recalls the towel. "Man, Jeff wouldn't even get out of bed until he'd polished off a 12-piece box of thighs and 2 orders of popcorn shrimp." Hardy, sensing his career slip away through his greasy hands, had no choice but to abandon his steadfast fuzzy companion and head to rehab. Left alone in a storage space packed with bricks of Black Russian hash and endless boxes of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls, the towel plunged even further into the depths of addiction.

Returning to the ring revitalized and ready for action, Hardy was dismayed to find his friend bloated to beach-towel sized proportions. While the svelte and spunky rag he knew was a distant memory, the ever-loyal grappler hoped to carry his mildew laden pal along on the path to recovery. "It was bad. I was causing Jeff to blow spots left and right. Umaga tripped over me three times in one match". Hardy "accidentally" left his associate backstage with increasing frequency. "Snitsky did horrible things to me back there" said the towel, choking back tears. "I don't even want to talk about it".

Dejected, the towel returned to Hardy's North Carolina estate "for a little R n' R. Y'know, Reefer n' Ribs". The pleasures of the towel's retreat were fleeting. Soaked in Goldschlager after a particularly Bacchanalian night of festivities, the rag sparked a roach left between Hardy's couch cushions. He was ablaze within moments, with Hardy's home soon to follow. Engulfed in flames and burnt within an inch of his life, the resourceful towel found salvation in a jumbo-sized bottle of Good Old J.R.'s Chipotle Bar-B-Que Sauce. Doused in piquant, smokey deliciousness, the towel emerged from the pyre alive. Unfortunately, Cameron N.C. firefighters (also fighting the fire with barbecue sauce) were unable to save Hardy's residence.

When asked when he will be turning himself over to authorities, the rag responded "In just minute. I'm just going to get a little bit high first". As for the future of troubled Jeff Hardy? "Don't worry. I have the feeling he'll be just fine".