The days of using sudden deaths of distant relatives, severed limbs, and aggravated goiters no longer work. People see right through that. As soon as you’re hanging up the phone in a sigh of relief, the person on the other end is telling their significant other what a dead-beat fuck you are. You have to go.
But I can save you the pain of attending further functions at residences like this. All you need to do is take a couple bags of potato chips, a three cheese dip, and a bag of kiwi mice. That’s right. They won’t be calling you for their next holiday gala.
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