Ashley, you have never been willing to accommodate my World of Warcraft needs, or even to compromise the slightest bit. Last month, when your mother was in a car accident, you called and not only demanded I drive you to the hospital but insisted I stay there to provide "emotional support"--despite knowing full well that I had booked that evening off to fight forest trolls in Zul'Aman. When I suggested you take a cab and that I join you in three to four hours, you unleashed a string of expletives that even my therapist found disturbing. You also refused to wait until we finished off the eagle boss, the one who drops the helm piece I have been trying to get for months.
For the record she turned out fine anyway. Many paraplegics lead rich and rewarding lives.
Also, what you stumbled upon me doing with that Level 64 blood elf in the back room of the Silvermoon City Inn was neither "sick and perverted" nor "cheating on you." We were role-playing. That I called you by her character's name later that evening was just a weird coincidence. I do not wish your body looked like that. You and I both know that it's physically impossible for humans to have those proportions, at least while retaining all of their internal organs.
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