When a very dear friend of mine was buying his first house, he started stumbling on really good deals for furniture and appliances. Unfortunately, this was a few months before the house was finalized and ready, and his apartment was a tiny shit-hole. Rather than let him pass on these legitimately good deals he was finding, I let him store his new belongings in my (slightly less tiny, slightly less of a shit-hole) apartment. It got a little cramped, and I might have had sex on his couch before he did to add a little justice to the situation, but ultimately it paid off when his new house was set up and furnished and he was doing a lot better than ever before.
Once again, Christian Weston Chandler can take a perfectly normal request and, just by existing, pervert it into something bizarre and obscene.
He's asking for a very huge favor from a friend he's never met.
He's doing something that could potentially drag his friend down with him, infesting her new home with mold spores and the stench of burning plastic and bedbugs.
And he has no real end game except "Now we're both dumpster babies, can I sperm in your female soul vagina?"
Friends are supposed to help each other make a better life. Catch each other when they're weak, but ultimately come out better. Chris is content to guilt strangers into living in the hell he's built for himself.
