My bed is sacred and arguably the most important place I have spent approximately 1/3rd of my life. Coming home hungover from the worst night of recent memory to you (to which I will refer to as 'asshole') and my desultory friend acting like rotten, back alley low lifes utilizing my beer and my house and my bed for your gnarly fuck fest was a special treat. All I wanted from you that morning, you know, before you jetted out so quickly, was simply a 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' for tainting your sheets. It would have been that simple and all of my wasted time wanting to personally insult you to your face would have been alleviated. My only option was to clean up after all that filth. That's right, I washed my soiled bed dressings, livid like a pit bull that just got punched and knowing one simple truth - I HATE YOU. Your disgusting and I bet you use a burger patty as a loofah. I knew the moment I met you I didn't like you but still gave you a chance. Why? Because that's what I do. Never again when it comes to you, Asshole! The one thing I can't yet get over is the fact that my incredibly sweet roommate, who for some reason still keeps you around as a friend, took the brunt of my yelling and bitching like a champ. She deserves better than a lopsided, logically deficient failure that you turned out to be for a friend. I hope I see you at one of our BBQs because I surely will spit in your food. Asshole! Thanks again, roomie, you're the best!
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