Screw you, Peter. I was looking forward to my ONE weekend away with my husband and new baby. We would go skiing, spend nice time with friends, and enjoy a snowy change of scenery. We got the car all packed up, baby in car seat, boots and coats on. I made sandwiches for the trip. Sandwiches, you asshole. I hate sandwiches! One quick call to say we're on our way, see ya in four hours. By the way, is there a Wal-Mart in town? I need a pair of snow pants and I'm in a pinch - can't fit into mine yet since the new baby. A fucking pair of snow pants, Peter. I'm not trying to oppress the little children in Asia any more than you are, Peter. Just tell me yes or no if there's a store - any store - where I can buy a cheap pair of snow pants that I will only wear once. But that's too much for you, isn't it Peter. You're so hateful and restless you put your dukes out and swing at shadows because it makes you feel stronger.
Thanks for ruining my weekend, Peter. Thanks for telling me I'm not welcome in your home because I ASKED if there's a damn place to buy some fucking snow pants. Thanks for telling me I'm childish and stupid and that I invited myself to your home. Why don't you check with your spouse, Peter, and see who did the inviting. But wait. Instead, you wait for spouse to get mad at you and get out of the house so you can call me back, berating me for causing problems between the two of you. YEAH. I caused the problems. You un-invite your spouse's friends, launch an aggressive attack and then make matters WORSE by severing any hope of reconciliation EVER.
My poor friend is unfortunate to have you, you boorish, abusive prick.
You're a loud mouthed fucking lumberjack and I hope I never lay eyes on you again.
Fuck you, Peter!
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