Man, all I did was step out of my bedroom before My Fucking Father, barely 12 hours into his time back in Minnesota, tells me to take out the trash. That asshole was lucky that I was leaving to go to the library. But what bothers me is that he didn't know that; he said, "Hey, are you leaving?" That didn't stop him for telling me to take out the trash, something I never did before he took off for Las Vegas. So that prick expects me to just get out of my room because he doesn't want to take the trash outside anymore? Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am?
So no, I did not roll the trash receptacle down to the curb. I forgot, but he doesn't know that. For all he knows, I was rebelling. He probably went outside and did it himself because it was down there when I got home. So, My Fucking Father had to leave the house after all!
The first skirmish of many, I'm afraid. This is why we can't live together.
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