It's Your Turn To Take Out The Trash
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It's your turn to take out the trash. Seriously, it is most definitely time for you to step up and take out the trash. We had this same argument last weekend and I ended up doing it myself, despite the fact that it was actually your turn.
I realize that our chore calendar says that it’s my week for taking out the trash but your negligence the previous week negates that fact.
I Was Trying To Get Laid
In no way did I voluntarily relieve you of your responsibility to take out the trash. It takes a little more than a couple of wine coolers to get a teenage girl’s top off and I was forced into taking out the trash just so there would be some room on the couch. She wouldn’t have vomited behind the couch if she didn’t see and smell the pile of cigarette butts on the end table next to the couch. I wouldn’t have vomited in front of the couch if I wouldn’t have finally noticed the curious stains on your computer terminal and got a visual of you sitting there, chain smoking and wanking off to videos of women peeing.
Fast Food Bags Are Piling Up
I realize that the kitchen sink has been filled with dishes and rendered unusable for a couple weeks. Remedying that situation by only eating take-out food and making a pyramid of Chili’s bags in the corner of the living room has not helped. While the plastic soda cups do look like tiny garbage cans, they still need to be taken outside and placed in the trash bin provided by the city and taken to the curb on Thursday morning. The fact that these cups are not completely filled with garbage does not create a situation that’s synonymous with a garbage can that has not been completely filled and therefore doesn’t need immediate and proper disposal.
I woke up with a headache this morning and wanted to go eat breakfast at McDonald’s. Unfortunately, I was not able to access the front door because you and your friends decided to create a recyclable pile of Coors Light cans in the front room last night. What I’m also finding alarming is the fact that the toilet has been unusable for the last week and I have no idea where all the urine created by that beer ended up. I'm also starting to wonder where you guys have been taking a dump during that time. I’ve been responsible for my own feces by keeping a 5-gallon paint bucket in my room, what have you been doing?
The Neighbors Are Starting To Complain
Actually, they started complaining the day we moved in but nobody cared. Ever since the Health Inspector’s 16 year old daughter went home topless, drunk and covered in vomit after visiting us, the notices have started piling up in the mailbox. I realize that you can’t see the mailbox through your booger coated window but I can assure you that there are pieces of mail, hanging out of the box, that clearly bear the logo of our township in the upper left hand corner. If you don’t believe me, go inside my bedroom and use the pile of car transmissions to look out my clean window for yourself.
The Meth Lab
I realize that the new pile of garbage forming just outside your bedroom window might explain the scent of 1000 soiled socks to the neighbors but the fact that said pile of garbage is mostly spent materials for making methamphetamine, that effect has been lost. I suggest that you at least cover the incriminating garbage with that actual pile of soiled socks that’s currently growing next to your bed. I also realize that the fumes from the lab are the only thing keeping the cockroaches at bay but it would be simpler to allow them to consume at least some of the trash inside the house instead of subsisting on your pile of former pets in the backyard.
The Dead Body In The Basement
I don’t remember us agreeing to some kind of free-for-all when it came to use of the limited space in the basement. Just because one of your friends killed a hooker, it doesn’t mean that we have storage room available for the body. You still haven’t buried the hooker that you killed last month and now you want me to believe that you’ll be responsible enough to bury someone else’s dead hooker?
The Human Trafficking
One would think that after our four years of trafficking illegal immigrants into America, you'd at least allow one of them take out the trash for us. I would have gladly paid someone $5 to clean out the house, with my own cash, but you always insist that nobody leaves the shipping container for the duration of the ride. You sure manage to take the trash out of the rental truck, every time, when we use your name on the U-Haul contract but I sure can't get you to take out the trash at home.
Just Take Out The Trash
Although I shouldn’t be making any concessions, I’ll cut you a bargain. I’ll go down to the basement and bury the dead hookers for you, will that make you happy? All I need is a little cooperation from you. Just take out the fucking trash, OK? Seriously. It’s your turn to take out the trash.