The Yearbook Office
Writings on staying alive
 

I had just stubbed my toe on the couch for the 500th time that morning, and I had HAD IT with Couch’s inability to understand that it was always in the wrong place.

“GODDAMN IT, COUCH, I DON’T KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I HAVE TO ASK YOU POLITELY TO GET OUT OF MY WAY, BUT UNLESS I HEAR AN APOLOGY FROM YOU RIGHT THIS INSTANT, THINGS ARE GOING TO GO SOUTH FOR YOU TOOT SWEET.”

Then I stood there and waited. Couch and I had been through a lot together, and as I waited for Couch to apologize, I thought about the times we had shared. Me watching TV. Me eating a box of cheese-flavored crackers. Me eating a box of cheese-flavored crackers while watching TV. So many memories.

I thought about giving Couch one more chance. Maybe Couch didn’t have to apologize. Maybe it was me. Maybe I just needed to go for a walk, work it out for myself.

I had packed my cracker bindle with some walking crackers and was just about out the door when I realized I should tell Couch that Couch was off the hook.

“Hey, Couch,” I said, striding confidently towards Couch, “Listen, brah, I just want you to know that I was a little upset, I said some things, you didn’t say some things, but—”

*toe stub*

“—GAAAAAAHH FUCKADOODLE STUPID COUCH FUCKING GODDAMN IT.”

About an hour later, I had dragged my couch out to the sidewalk, leaving a sign on it that said, “THIS COUCH IS AN INSENSITIVE JERK, I DON’T NEED ITS NEGATIVE ENERGY IN MY LIFE, TAKE AT YOUR OWN RISK.” And then I kicked it, for good measure, again stubbing my toe.

Later that day, I sat on the floor to watch my usual 8 to 19 hours of competitive cooking shows, when I realized the coffee table was obscuring my view of the television. I tried to reason with it.

“Hey, Coffee Table, I’m gonna need you to move, like, just a little bit to the left, so I can see once and for all which chef is best at turning a bag of Chex Mix, a bottle of Pinot, and a hat into a Thanksgiving dinner. Sound good? Awesome.”

I sat back down, and waited for Coffee Table to scoot out of the way.

And waited.

And waited.

An hour later, Coffee Table had not budged. Didn’t even go through the MOTIONS of ATTEMPTING to PRETEND to move. Just sat there like a piece of furniture in some doofus’s living room. Why, it was more useless than that stupid “ANALOGIES FOR DOOFUSES” book I had thrown out just the other day.

Having JUST gone through this with Couch, I didn’t want to let my emotions get the better of me. Besides, if things went south with Coffee Table the way they did with Couch, I would have to put my cheese-flavored crackers on the floor, and I may be many things, but I am not a floor-cracker-eater, cheese-flavored or otherwise.

About fifteen minutes later, I had my lawyer on the phone. I explained the situation to her. She thought about it quietly for about forty-five billable minutes, and finally suggested that if Coffee Table didn’t want to comply, I could always threaten to have it arrested for trespassing, and from there, we could sue for emotional damages.

I was worried about getting the police involved, and asked her if there were any other options. After bringing in a high-powered team of some of the finest legal minds in the world, they expensively agreed that I could just drag it out to the street because it was being a total dill-hole.

I hung up the phone, stood up, and grabbed my cheese-flavored crackers off of my insensitive maroon of a coffee table. It was then and there that I realized that if I stood up, and held my cheese-flavored crackers above floor level, I could see the TV, AND not have to eat floor crackers. FINALLY I HAD THE UPPER HAND OVER MY STUPID COFFEE TABLE.

“WELL, WELL, WELL, COFFEE TABLE. LOOKS LIKE THE CHEESE-FLAVORED CRACKERS ARE NEITHER RESTING ON YOUR SMUG BACK, NOR ARE THEY FLOOR CRACKERS. So. Once and for all, are you gonna move, or are you gonna live on the mean streets of Anytown, USA, doing whatever you can to make it in this hellish garbage world?”

About an hour later I had dragged Coffee Table out to the street, where it now sat next to Couch. Somehow they both had this smug air about them, in spite of the fact that they were stupid morons and I was a can-do genius with a knack for making my world better with every brilliant idea I had. I attempted to kick both at the same time, stubbing every toe on both feet in the process.

Shortly thereafter, I stood in the middle of my now almost-empty living room, eating my cheese-flavored crackers and watching Food Network’s hot new competitive cooking show, MURDER DEATH KILL KITCHEN RESTAURANT SUPERMARKET MURDER WARS.

It was then that I noticed a slight crick in my neck, because I had to look down ever so slightly to see my TV. It would be so much better if TV was mounted on the wall, but like the vagabond rapscallion that it was, TV just sat on my entertainment center. It should be noted that if Entertainment Center was just a little taller, this crick in my neck that would SURELY require medical attention in 7-10 years would be a non-issue.

I thought about talking to them separately, in an attempt to play them against each other. But then I realized that they had seen how swiftly and efficiently I had dealt with Couch and Coffee Table, so they knew what was about to go down.

I tucked my cheese-flavored crackers under my arm, and launched into the following stirring oration.

“My friends. I think you know that I am no longer taking the indignities foisted upon me by my belongings sitting down. That’s largely in part because I don’t have a couch, but it’s also because I am awesome. In conclusion, TV, jump on the wall and stick to it, and/or Entertainment Center, grow, GROW LIKE THE MIGHTY TREE THAT WAS CHOPPED UP INTO TINY PIECES AND THEN GLUED BACK TOGETHER TO MAKE THE MIRACLE OF LAMINATED PARTICLE BOARD.”

About an hour and a half later, TV and Entertainment Center were out on the street. I got out of there quickly, because I was outnumbered, but not before I tried to deliver a roundhouse kick to the lot of them, resulting in me stubbing both feet, and somehow, my neck.

I walked back into my apartment, and everywhere I looked, I saw ungrateful non-cooperation from all of my things. Refrigerator, with its stubborn insistence on not walking to the supermarket to fill itself with food. Art On The Walls that didn’t turn into other art when I was bored with it, or pizzas for that matter. Bookshelf that didn’t read books to me at night as I tried to fall asleep in Bed, which didn’t whistle “Sweet Baby James” and rock me gently to aid the slumber process.

NONE OF IT, NONE OF IT WAS EVEN ATTEMPTING TO MEET ME HALFWAY ON ANY OF MY SIMPLE, REASONABLE REQUESTS.

In an attempt to calm myself, I reached into Box Of Cheese-Flavored Crackers for a handful of crunchy, salty, orange, cheese-influenced goodness.

Box Of Cheese-Flavored Crackers was EMPTY.

Son of a BITCH.

About ten hours later, all of my possessions sat on the curb, and I stood naked in my apartment (Don’t even get me STARTED on Clothes, which I realized I had to PUT ON MYSELF).

As I watched the crowd of people filling their cars with what they wrongly thought was perfectly good stuff, I couldn’t help but laugh at them. “What a bunch of suckers. All of that is USELESS. They’ll know soon enough. They’ll know.”

And with that, I leaned against one of my barren, white walls, and dematerialized into nothingness. “Good riddance,” I thought to myself, “I’m too good for this stupid world anyway.”

EPILOGUE:

  • Couch was adopted by a family of badgers and lived happily in the verdant forest. At one point a bear stubbed her toe on it and considered eating it, but the badgers were there to talk her down. She ate them instead.

  • Coffee Table survived for ten years on the Mean Streets of Anytown, USA, doing whatever it could to make it in this hellish garbage world. Its story is currently being developed as a Lifetime Made-For-TV Movie.

  • Entertainment Center, always feeling like it had something to prove, actually willed itself to grow 28 feet tall. It now resides in Portland, Oregon, and lives a happy life as Paul Bunyan Statue’s favorite piece of furniture.

  • Empty Box Of Cheese-Flavored Crackers is still empty, and still a total jerk. Jesus.