"Are you going to be in all day? Yes? OK, then, do the laundry and clean your room. You have a schedule."
No, my schedule is I go on the Internet, make sure everybody knows about the game, and then I'll masturbate your mean, authoritarian words through my dick, and then I'll do whatever the fuck I want, which is nothing. How the fuck are you gonna stop me, asshole?
OK, what I'm really going to do is Swiffer the floor while listening to Stoke City @ Manchester United on Sirius XM. Dad, you know I already started a load of laundry, but to make your fastidious ass happy, I'll do another. And unbeknownst to him, I already picked up most of the papers off the floor. You're right; it was getting to be too much. But I'm not throwing it away. I'm putting into storage. Because I'm a goddamn packrat, OK?
They left, so I think I can leave after I half-ass cleaning the rest of the room. He can't stop me.
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