I sat, with my fingers caressing my ergonomic keyboard, staring at the computer screen. “If my furniture could speak, what would it say?” What the hell? I bounced up and down on my ergonomic chair, hoping to hear some grinding or grunting that could be mistaken for some sort of language. Nothing – that sucker was lubed up better than Paris Hilton.
I know what you’re thinking: what the hell is up with me and my fixation on ergonomics. Once I was at a store and they were selling ergonomic silverware. I bought every piece they had in stock. I figure it will supply my family for three generations. Why? I don’t plan on getting cancer. Ergonomics is the future.
My stomach rumbled disagreeably. That broccoli and cabbage pesto sauce was not sitting well for some reason. I had to get this assignment written and written fast. When I was boiling my pesto I could have sworn the bubbling sounded a bit like it was laughing at me.
I picked up my scotch glass (currently empty) and flung it at the wall to hear it scream as it died, broken into dangerous pieces. The crash of glass broke the heavy silence and shards rained down on me, as if it were out to get some petty revenge for its destruction. Maybe I should have thrown it at the far wall. But even with the noise I heard no voice. No speaking. Perhaps I threw it too hard and it died on impact.
Godzilla was staring at me, angrily, looking ready to spew a fire that never came. Maybe he was mad cause he was made of plastic and only two inches tall. But I had given him dominion over my computer, to keep it safe and in line while I was out. He should be happy. He was like my second in command. But he never looked happy and he never said thank you. Hell, I couldn’t even consider him furniture anyway, so what good was he for my story?
Nobody has ever created an ergonomic monitor. It’s an idea that’s worth millions. If you make it and get rich you owe me royalties.
The story was going nowhere so I walked over to the couch, careful to avoid the glass. It was time to sit on my couch and relax. It was time to digest. Now I know what you’re thinking: is it an ergonomic couch? It’s fluffy – you can’t get more ergonomic than that.
As I sat down my pesto finally decided to catch up to me and some…well…gaseous formation decided to expel from my lower half. That’s right, people: I farted. It was a boomer. Jim Carrey would have been proud. And while it did make me feel better I wasn’t about to stick around, so I stood up to leave. As I did my old fluffy, rickety couch creaked. And as it did I could have sworn I heard “God Damnit! What an asshole.”