Oh My Gosh, Look at That Bum

“Can I call you Betty?”
Jeff glared at him. Billie couldn't understand why Jeff was always giving him that look: “Can you play the mandolin?” and Jeff would give him the look, “Can I draw a penis on your guitar?” and here comes the look again, “I knitted a sweater for you with my pubic hair”, and sure enough, the look was there, waiting for him.
“I'm murdering you.”
Billie felt threatened, but only for a moment, because then, with a soft smile, he remembered:
“You can't kill people, it's illegal.”
Jeff sighed. “Just fucking pass the flour, will you?”
Billie did as he was told. Jeff poured the flour into a large red mixing bowl, then added a couple of eggs and stirred.
“You're not stirring it right,” said Billie Joe, breaking the silence. Jeff snapped.
“I'M TEARING OFF THAT DEAD BABY EEL YOU CALL YOUR PENIS AND I'M STIRRING THIS SHIT-TEXTURED BATTER WITH THAT UNTIL IT FUCKING-” but then he was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
Billie smiled, a big, happy, beaming smile that made Jeff want to finger his throat and puke on everything Billie had ever loved, and, hopping toward the door, squealed: “I'll get it!”.
Billie opened the heavy wooden door, and greeted the new guest with his signature smile.
“Hello Mr. Hobo! How can I help you?”
The hobo, a man in his 30s with a bushy dark beard and matching long unwashed hair, smiled back.
“A little birdie told me two young chaps were making muffins around here, so here I am.”
“What a nice bum! My name is Billie Joe,” Billie introduced himself, offering his hand, “and I like to do drugs.”
The man smiled again.
“My name is John Lennon,” replied the stranger, “and I'm currently hallucinating on LSD.”
Billie jumped at the news, happy as a bisexual adult in a swingers party could be.
“Jeff!” he called, “John Lenin is here!”
Jeff emerged from the kitchen, eyes wide and red from the weed he and Billie had put in the oven earlier that afternoon.
“Mr. Lenin, I'm honored,” he bowed before the Beatle, “but shouldn't you be dead?”
John shrugged. “Meh. Whatevs.”
Billie let John in and they all went to the kitchen hand in hand, heidi-girl-of-the-alps style, to finish making their delicious shrooms muffins.
While Jeff was pouring some milk into the mixing bowl, Billie noticed something weird: the milk was glowing.
“How do you do that?” he asked Jeff, but before Jeff could answer, a shadow appeared from the stream of milk, landing on the floor. The shadow grew and grew and grew, and now it wasn't a shadow anymore, it was a body, and then it grew some more until...
“Hitler?!” the three men screamed.
“It's a-me, Adolf!” the man greeted them.
“Hi! I'm John Lennon,” said John, politely, because, after all, he was an hippie, and hippies are well known for their nice behavior.
“What the- oh well, I'm Jeff,” said the black-haired guitarist.
“And I'm Billie Joe!” beamed Billie, who didn't even know where the fuck he was because he was stoned out of his mind.
Hitler's eyes grew the size of the moon.
“Billie Jew?” He had already started salivating with anticipation.
John Lemon hit him on the head with a sauce pan, saving the situation. Hitler passed out on the floor, but regained his consciousness right away and a couple of seconds later there he was again, standing in front of the three guys, because after all this whole thing was a collective hallucination so basically anything was possible. Before he could punch or bite or kick or gas Billie, though, Jeff put a glass to the führer his lips, and forced him to drink its content. Suddenly, Hitler calmed down, much to Billie's surprise.
“The fuck did you give him?” asked the frontman.
“A chill pill.”
Meanwhile, Adolf had put his hands in the batter and now he was licking them. He died almost immediately because everybody knows raw muffin batter is bad for you, and John started crying because he was a hippie and that's what he did best.
Billie though that was the most annoying thing he'd ever heard so he 619'd Lenom back to heaven, even though he imagined there wasn't one, and it was actually pretty easy if he tried, and went back to pouring the muffin batter into the cupcake tray, which Jeff had lightly greased with some Pam Baking Spray.
The muffins baked for 25 minutes and came out like shit.
The end.