I honestly don't know. It's like I have some indescribable force compelling me to try (and almost always fail) to act as some kind of voice of reason for him. Like a crazy guy who doesn't know he's crazy. Or some crap like that.
... I swear, I just want to kill myself. I'm still waiting for him to kiss my butt in gratitude for getting the hole for the oil-fitting perfect without the proper tools, and letting it sit in front of my house for so long.
I'm thinking of cash payment. . . or the FC in exchange (after I've...
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