A Dialogue Between Person and Bed, in the manner of Plato.
I love you. You are so large and warm and comfortable. I want to lie down in you now.
I hate you, you great lumpy, sweating, steaming mass of flesh. Who do you think you are, to come and slip yourself between my sheets and thrash around all night?
It's so wonderful, after a long, hard day working, eating, and performing various human activities, to come and slip myself into your rectangular embrace.
Urgh!! I shudder everytme you waft into the room. If I had a mouth*, I would tell you that YOU STINK. You perspire towards me, then slip yourself into my lily-white sheets, then proceed to propel your way through your dreams by a serious of burps, yawns, and farts. By the time the night is done, I feel less like a bed, and more like a stagnant fen. I hate you.
You are so accommodating! Not only can you be my place of repose, but whenever she is here, you become a scene of sport, an athletic arena, a circus, an epic stage of history! Oh! And when that is complete, and we like back, you are so gentle with us ...
Her? NOT HER!!! As if your lumps and farts and thrashing around are not enough to deal with, I sometimes have to deal with HER as well! Fuck! And not only do you both start exuding pheromones left, right and cdentre, but the way you two flail about - it's as if you want to knock the stuffing out of me!
Is that it? You want to KILL me?
Truly, bed, you are one of the finest, most elegant, most beautiful things to grace this earth.
Do you know what my fantasy is? The secret desire that I dream about? It is that an albino elephant would suddenly and inexplicably storm through the house, smashing you through the floor, before ravishing me and carrying me off to the forests of Mandalay.
But it's never going to happen, is it, because - I'm just a BED, and YOU MADE ME THIS WAY!
I love you.
I hate you.
*But I don't, because I was made that way. And whose fault is that? YOURS - you fucking bastard!
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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