That Is Too Much To Ask

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I hate my friends. You know the type. They are the ones that want you to help them move or need a jump when their car dies. I know I should be more willing to help but can’t you see I have more important things to do? Your ill-timed phone call just interrupted my TV watching or an attempt to string myself up in a closet like David Carridine during an act of sexual asphyxiation, with the help of a local hooker named Sasha. Don’t you know these hookers charge by the hour? My friends should know by now that I will party with them, help them in a fight, or, in a pinch, help them apply sun screen to their back in a less than heterosexual manner (just to make them feel uncomfortable). However, anything more than that is asking alot. You want me to go to your wedding? Will there be an open bar? You want me to babysit your kids for a few hours? Can I give them some codeine and a shot of whiskey so they’ll pass out and shut the fuck up? You want me to give you a ride to the store in exchange for gas money? Do I look like a fucking taxi driver to you? So for future reference, unless you have a dead body rolled up in that rug, stop being lazy and carry it your damn self.

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