Helping Sucks

The other day while I was at the gym our neighbors called. Regrettably, they're moving so now I can't water their plants and stick stuff up their cat's ass while they're away. But luckily I was still able to help them out because they wanted me to move all the shit they have in the attic to the basement. As another fortunate circumstance, my mom told them I'd love to, and insisted I'd do it for free. So I came home, showered, ate a kick-ass dinner, then I was told I had to go over to Mr. and Mrs. Humpty Dumpty's house to move their shit three stories.

First of all, I've never seen more useless crap in my life. Only a real fucker keeps a 30 year old computer chair that looked like the rustiest, dirtiest piece of shit ever unless the prospect of metal rods protruding into your asshole wets your whistle. If there's one thing I hate, it's helping lazy people. Carrying groceries for an old hag is one thing, but doing something for someone who's able to but doesn't want to sucks more than Monica "working" at the White House. So while I'm climbing up and down their shoddy unstable ladder, they're just sitting on the couch downstairs stuffing food and playing with their 3 year-old who babbles non-stop.

I thought about teaching that kid a little lesson in Kung-Fu a la The Whore Secretary but I'm a nice guy. I figured that having to live with his parents is punishment enough, so I opted for Plan C. (Plan B was to break the ladder and jump from the attic, pretending to hurt myself and sue for billions. But let's face it, I'm too pretty to risk injury: females across the world would contemplate suicide, the flower industry would be inundated, and the hospital would have to waste all their resources sorting all my get-well cards.) Therefore, I had no choice but to resort to Plan C, which I dubbed "Operation: Grundle." Since I was pretty sweaty at this point (45 minutes in), I ate the youngster's bowl of cherries and melon and then rubbed my glistening nuts on their hand-towel. I then carefully plucked out an ass-hair and put it in their dish washer, giving their last meal a little Cajun kick.

However, almost causing me to change my mind about the free Kung-Fu lesson was the fact that the kid insisted on "helping." As appreciative as I was, his idea of helping was walking in front of me and tugging on my leg while I was carrying heavy boxes. Finally, I locked him in the kitty box for a while. This way, I could work in peace while allowing the cat a little fornification. What can I say? Ace Ventura encouraged me to be an animal lover and the furry fella needed a little TLC.

Although they didn't give me anything in compensation except for a hearty, "Thank You," being the great dude that I am I left a little something for them. As I was grabbing the last box, I let out arguably one of the best farts of my life. This is just one of those emissions that not only the originator can appreciate but others marvel at as well. After making sure I didn't burn a hole in my backside, I almost didn't make it out in time. I became light-headed, I couldn't breathe, but luckily I was jet-propelled toward the ladder. It was like I had put on a pair of rocket skates from ToeJam and Earl. Hopefully they'll go for one last look in the attic (if they can ever make it up there) and BAM they'll be knocked out. Well, either that or their olfactory nerves will be permanently singed.

I hope they enjoy their last supper.

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