Recently I discovered that my furniture can talk. Not only that, but it's hyper critical of my life. One day about a week ago I came home a little earlier than usual. I came in the side door which is unusual for me but I forgot my keys and always left the side door unlocked. Dumb, I know, but it's saved my butt more times than I can count. Anyway, I came through the side door and so I guess the furniture didn't hear me come in or something. My desk, coffee table, recliner and chesterfield were all surrounding the TV, watching an old Baywatch or something about a beach cause I could hear the ocean-y sounds and melodramatic music. Their backs were all to me. Dumbfounded, I was about to go over and start moving them back when a voice came from the couch saying:
"Geez, it's good to get a chance to relax. Fucking fat-ass must've put on like 20 pounds this winter. It's like being sat on by a sack of moldy potatoes. And smells worse. You'd figure you spend all this money on a fine sofa like yours truly, you take care of that shit. Not fart your wet farts all over it in your dirty tighty whiteys."
The other furniture murmured in agreement.
After a second's shock, I was more indignant than anything else. Sure, I'd put on a few pounds, but certainly not 20! (I'd have to weigh myself later to confirm, and yup! Only 18!) Also, who hasn't sat around in their underwear when no one's around? Or cut a mean one loose for the same reason? Knowing someone else knew about those things, even if that someone was a couch, was more than a little embarrassing.
Unfortunately, this complaint just got the rest of them started. The recliner chimed in:
"You think that's bad? At least he doesn't jerk off and rock back and forth like a maniac. I've soaked up so much jizz I'm prolly legally a cumrag now."
I turned beet red. Oh yeah, disgusting, you're probably saying. Like you don't jerk off!
"I feel for ya, man," the desk lamented. "I don't have it anywhere near as bad. I just feel sorry for the guy, ya know? Just sits at his desk, logged on the 'net, looking at nothing in particular, wasting away mentally, not physically, obviously (a chuckle from the coffee table and recliner and a woop! from the sofa here). But just throwing away his life, staring at a screen. Pity."
"Fuck 'em," the coffee table screeched. "If he's doin' it to himself, he must be havin' a halfway decent time or something. I mean, the way he lives, the shit he eats, he's probably gonna off himself soon anyways."
That got a laugh all around and a "You kill me, table," from the desk. I had had enough. I cleared my throat loudly and the laughter died instantly. There wasn't a sound in the room. I suspected they were testing to see if I heard them or not, so I said quietly "I heard you. I heard everything," to which the desk weakly said "Hey man, how're ya doin'?"
For some reason that just set me off. I flew into a rage. I was all cocksucker this, fucking piece of shit that. I went on and on. Finally I finished, and the furniture sat quiet again. Then the sofa told me they meant every word and that it was over. They were all leaving, if I cared would get my life on course. They would be back for their things tomorrow, they said. Then one by one they went out the door. They never came back.
As I said, I haven't seen them. But maybe you have? Please let me know. We all said some things we shouldn't have and I'd hate to leave it on a sour. Tell them I'm sorry, will you? And ask them to come back?
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