approximately thirty six days ago i stuck an antler-veneered pocket knife (which i actually found in the humanities garden on campus when conducting an EM-38 survey with my digital archaeology class...) into the foremost part of the couch's arm, the homologue of a human humerus. it so happens that when i pulled the knife out, instead of a steady, tarantinian stream of wood chips and cheap poly filler that one would expect the damn thing actually clotted. the demin-fibrin scab that formed on top of the deep incised wound indicated that my obnoxious, physiological descriptions of the couch were based in "RL", which is the slang that the kids who live in the 'world' use when talking about extra-'world' things. this effing thing is actually alive (i know, right mary shelley?). following this discovery, i took the steps that any perfectly sane would in the same situation, i ate a grilled cheesed sandwich (a perfectly sane food to eat) and schemed. how best to kill the beast? matches? prescription pain pills? oil? in the end i decided that i would use the antler-veneered pocket knife to cut out the heart of the couch, eat the heart, and then bury the empty vessel in an indian grave yard (i know of one in close proximity to gallup, new mexico...a short drive from denver). i could not, however, go forward with the ritual, as tito informed me that he was taking (his) couch with him up to boulder to reside in his new apartment. an argument ensued. as much as i hated the thing, the prospect of having no couch seemed worse than having a denim one. my contention was that having maintained and utilized the couch for the better part of a year i was as much its parent as he was, and he countered by saying, "hey asshole, i own this couch." having completely discredited his argument by calling me an asshole, we had to call in an impartial judge and...yada...yada...yada...i said that i would gratefully take a sawed in half section of the couch and in doing so lost all custody, the judge citing my desire to "...see harm come to the child." fuck it, i don't need a couch, i'll put a chair and a small table in the front of my television (so that when you sit down in the center of the rather large room you'll feel generally like someone who hides the bodies of their family members the walls of his home).
i need a couch. and luckily after using my powers of persuasion i was able to recruit courtney into spending her morning on craigslist, where she promptly found this lovely camelback couch for $75 dollars. the seventy-five dollar price tag was accompanied by two strangely innocuous photographs, showing only a small corner of the couch that was used by the owner's cat as a clawing post. to me this indicated that the couch was either serving as a cat urine sponge in the home of the two owners, or they are just nice, well off and would like a couch in their living room not scarred by the talons of a fell beast. felling optimistic, we rented a u-haul, drove to franktown, and about an hour later discovered that the couch was in almost pristine condition. courtney bought a coffee table from them.
juice by sarah juice by sarah juice by sarah, new couch!
