So recently, I went furniture shopping. I needed a couch. The problem was, I hated all the couches.
But then I found this couch and I loved it.
This is my soul-couch. It is the couch of my heart. It’s like the great bed of Ware, but a couch. It’s like I had a dream, and in that dream I said, “I want a couch that looks like a pirate would fuck on it” and then I woke up and the dream was made manifest upon the world.
And it was on CLEARANCE? This is emblematic of everything that’s wrong in the world: That this couch would exist and yet not have a home where it was loved and cherished. I mean, there are so many bullshit couches out there. Hollow, horrible corporate things. Ugly. Uncomfortable. Couches with no heart. Couches with no panache.
And then there is this vasty beautiful beast. I mean, just looking at this couch I gave it a fucking backstory. Figuratively AND literally. It belonged to a pirate captain who looted it from the wealthy merchant vessel he raided. That’s why it’s scratched up in places. It was marred in the heat of battle, and rough sorts that they are, the pirate crew wasn’t gentle bringing it onboard.
Luckily, it’s a sturdy piece of furniture. And it was put to hard use over the years by Captain Fuckbeard. Lo, there was much carousing conducted in its vicinity. And yay, many a buxom lass and laddie was swivved thereon after giving enthusiastic verbal consent. And yes, much aftercare was also conducted upon thereto.
So I bought this couch.
And they brought it to my house.
And… I don’t know how to say this. It wouldn’t fit through the front door. We tried every way.
We took it around and it wouldn’t go through the back door, either. It just. Wouldn’t. Go.
And now I’m going to be sad and angry forever.
Goodbye beautiful pirate fuck-couch. I’ll never forget you.
pat