Reasons Why I Must Sadly Decline Your Request

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Reasons Why I Must Sadly Decline Your Request

Doing that would take either time or money, and that sounds expensive. 

I would have to move my limbs around all over the place. Come on.

Forget about doing THAT. It is much better to do THIS!

It’s 4:30, and that feels more like a 2:30 thing.

The Shadow Government kills all who dare to attempt that.

I don’t have ripped fuckin’ abs! To do that, you need ripped fuckin’ abs!

I just need to decompress right now. I’m really compressed.

Lesser men have died in vain even forming initial plans to perform such an intrepid and colossal feat of sheer lunacy.

I’m hungry. Have you ever been hungry before? Then you get it.

When Mercury is in retrograde, it is best to wait silently, like the wolf.

Asking me for that right now is literally causing diabetes.

In the difference between an Amish and a Mennonite there lies a reason for why I must decline your request.

The Earth’s atmosphere is far, far too nitrogen rich for that. You should know that by now.

I’ve already tried 2 ways of doing that and neither one worked. Therefore, nothing works, and God is dead.

If I did that, I would feel like I was doing it out of obligation and that feels totalitarian to me, like something for NAZIS.

Tom could do that. This is definitely a Tom thing. We should really be talking to Tom right now. Where the hell is Tom? He’s at lunch? Typical Tom move.

I am busy urgently monitoring the George Washington dock, and my mind must be clear for the horrible days to come.

The Federal Trade Commission has put me on a little staycation during which I’m not legally allowed to touch any computers, money, or phones.

According to David Hume, action requires belief and desire. I lack both. I also lack money, insurance, and daycare. You hear me!? This is a fucking robbery! Give me your wallet!

Doing a thing like that at a time like now could lead a guy like me and gal like you who are having a conversation like this in a place like here to seriously, seriously get ourselves confused. What was the question, again?

My genetics predispose me toward inventing pseudoscientific explanations for why I can’t do that, rather than simply shutting the fuck up and doing that.

A swarm of renegade U-haul trucks currently surrounds me, entirely cutting me off from both civilization and escape! What madman could conjure such a U-haul swarm! What devilry begat such inconvenience!

That would take, by my estimation, 2 hours of time. Time. What is time? Time, allegedly, is a unique dimension through which we move automatically as changes occur. But what is meant by “move”, and what by “dimension”? What are these changes, and how do we know they are affecting us rather than a brain-in-a-vat that only thinks they are affecting us? Unfortunately, it appears that we do not have enough time to probe such deep mysteries in the limited space generously afforded to us by the editor.


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Written by

Alex Baia is a humor writer and contributor to McSweeney’s and Slackjaw. He lives in Austin, TX.