Demonic Couch
They say to keep your friends close and your enemy closer. I don’t know if this is a particularly wise adage. When I first heard it, I never thought I’d be in a daily duel with the nemesis residing in my own living room.
For most, a living room is a place of comfort and relaxation. Somewhere you can go to kick back, crack open a cold one, and binge past seasons of Survivor while pretending you could totally handle being in the wilderness longer than eight consecutive hours.
For me, it is a battlefield. A place of high-stakes conflict. The battle is eternal. Linger too long and defeat is all but certain. I live every day with no guarantee that I will walk away, head held high, to fight another day.
My adversary:
Do not be deceived.
This is no ordinary sofa.
From a distance, it may look as innocent as a newborn. After all, like many newborns, it is absolutely ugly, hideous, and plain ole unsightly. Never before in history have the colors olive-vomit green and rotten-grape purple teamed up to launch such a vicious assault upon our collective corneas.
Despite its unlovely fabric, I once cherished it like a new mother adores her offspring. I had no furniture when I moved to Orlando eight years ago. Finding this pristine couch for only $80 was a bargain. Little did I know it would be a Faustian one.
Slowly, day by day, year by year, it has turned on me. Every day, I afforded its fibers and frame no rest, as I habitually sat in the same spot. I didn’t realize I was slowly being devoured, like a hapless galactic tourist fallen into the Sarlacc Pit.
My back began to ache, then hurt. After long sessions sitting down, I can feel my muscles tensed like guitar strings while standing. I stretch, get massages, try a chiropractor, just lay on the floor - anything to provide me relief. Each time I recover, only to return to the war and discover the cushion has sunk by another half-inch.
Like the possessed extra-planar demonic presence that it is, the couch always has a new avenue of attack. Still, I have stubbornly persisted. As I type these very words, it sits mere feet away. Like a devilish siren attempting to snare Ulysses, it invites me to stop typing, sit on it, and begin watching TV. I stoically resist it so that I can tell this tale to the world.
You are definitely wondering: “Rick, why don’t you just buy a new couch?”
To you I say: Have you seen the prices on these things??? It’s fucking C-R-A-Z-Y. Sure, there are cheaper ones for a few hundred dollars. How can I possibly trust them? The reviews are completely mixed. I live every day in fear that the affordable options are part of a grand Couch Conspiracy, working together to slowly destroy the final remnants of my L4-L5 vertebrae.
My real plan all these years is that I would meet the right Mrs. Rick and she would just have her own, better couch. The scheme seemed foolproof. Since it was hers, it would match the colors and decorations she already owned. It’d be pretty difficult to find one less comfortable, so it’d be an upgrade there as well. The bonus would be her getting the “win” of tossing out my currently horrific model.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Rick is quite elusive. I’m assuming that all of my prospects are secretly harboring an identical plan and want to use MY couch. Upon seeing the Beast in person, it seems that none of them will abandon their own couch machinations. Sorry ladies - on this, there can be no compromise.
It seems few have the fortitude to battle the beast the way I have. Many might call me a martyr. Boldly sacrificing myself in a struggle few will ever recognize. I know I definitely do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the war. It’s time to re-watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy and prove, once and for all, that my back can take 10 hours seated on any surface known to man.
3 Funny Things
1 - When you have a task
If you want a look behind-the-scenes of my writing process (and just entire life in general), this short sketch sums it up 110% accurately. Especially if you cut off the last two seconds, as I don’t always have that epiphany upon finally completing something. Twitter isn’t allowing embeds on Substack right now, so you’ll have to click the picture above which links out to the video.
2 - Fix you a plate
I’m pretty sure the vast majority of these types of videos are faked for the laughs/outrage but I still laughed. We’ve all eaten some bad cooking before and the idea of this typical midwestern mom fixing up some raw chicken with watered down BBQ sauce is real enough to leave me shaking my head. So even if it’s faked, I gotta give em credit for some great character choices and commitment.
3 - No Comfort Here
It’s me, I’m the friend. Sorry if you’ve ever come to me for consolation. I probably tried really hard. The Onion never misses and this is just another in a long line of greatness. The linked page has a slightly longer article you can check out.