Hmm. Sounds therapeutic. I’m in.
No. Signing a lease after only a half-day’s worth of looking is stupid, and I’m not doing it. I don’t care how much of a huge flaming hurry you think you’re in; I’m doing this as a favor to you, and I’ll do it when I’m comfortable with it or not at all.
For the ten thousandth time in as many conversations: I KNOW YOU HATE HIM. I don’t, and I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had no interest in hearing about it for the past twenty-five years of my life, and Lord only knows why you think I’d start now, but hey…you just keep on derailing all our conversations into discussions about how much you hate him, and I’ll keep on hanging up as soon as you do. Why mess with a good thing, right?
[Apologies, this is long, but I have to get it out somewhere, and this seems to be the right place.]
Sigh…look, man. I know you want everyone in your personal social circle to get along and love one another and hang out as one big happy family. I know you dream of the day that I welcome your numerous acquaintances with open arms, and help you usher in a new day of kindness and brotherhood. It’s a beautiful thought, and I’d love to help you, I really would, but…listen. I’m going to be straight with you.
The reason I do not want to hang out with your friends is that all of your friends are retarded douchebags. Yes, all of them. Sure, there are a few that I pretend to get along with because they generally manage not to say anything insulting, bigoted, or outright hateful in my presence — resorting instead to getting wasted and proclaiming their own superiority at every opportunity — but rest assured, I gain no enjoyment from it. What’s more, you know this; we’ve had this conversation so many times that I think you might have even been sober for it once or twice. So, while I acknowledge that you are indeed a very kind person for continuing to extend your hospitality to these folks, I’d occasionally like to spend time with you without the added company of endless droves of your perpetually crunked racist and/or homophobic and/or otherwise-superiority-complex-sporting mouth-breathing fucking retarded douchebag ‘friends’ popping in and out of the latest get-together that you’d promised would be “just us”, and I don’t think that makes me an asshole.
(Oh, and one more thing: before preaching love and acceptance to me, I’d work on the guy who introduced himself to your coworker’s girlfriend with “Boy gets himself promoted an’ now he’s fuckin’ the nigger?!”. Or possibly the lovely lass who overturned my coffee table when I requested she cease slapping your girlfriend upside the head. I know you were conflicted on both of these occasions when we had to throw these people out, but that’s what happens when you only hang around with retarded douchebags. Take a lesson, please.)