Man, I want to hurt someone Swedish right now. Hurt them like their whole nation has hurt me.
The missus bought an Aspelund range bedroom set from Ikea earlier this year. I made the whole thing in a day or two, and remember making the bed whilst eating a Greggs sausage and bean melt, and listening to Manchester United stick three past Liverpool thanks mainly to the zany actions of Pepe Reina. I believe his inner monologue, during that match, was a bit like a Terry Gilliam directing a Being John Malkovich type affair. But with Jerzy Dudek instead.
I don't really know what I'm on about.
But the bed. Oh, the bed. This mother fucker is killing me. Despite its luxurious comfort, and enviable size, the fucking thing is teasing, mocking, and possibly bullying us. The whole fucking thing keeps collapsing on us. And don't say it was caused by me putting it together badly, perhaps forgetting a vital bolt due to Nani slapping home the third goal, or because I dropped a bit of alarmingly greasy pastry down my shirt, it's nothing to do with that.
What happens is that the side of the bed warps, pushing out slightly, meaning the wooden slats the mattress lies on suddenly have nothing to rest on. This causes the mattress, and everything on it, to plunge to the ground. I lie there at night, listening to the sound of wood deforming, waiting, expecting, and knowing that soon, I'm hitting the ground like that fella form Linoclnshire who tampered with his own parachute.
Anyway. In the box of misery Ikea sent us, there were some metal support rods that you were meant to attach, but they kindly provided bolts not just the wrong size for the rods, but for the bed as well. I managed to imagineer a way around this (involving lots and lots of parcel string) but all that ultimately achieved was to break the support rods, and make me look like a bit of a dick.
I'm at my wits end with this. I don't want to know about solutions, I know of many that would do the job. I just don't want to have to do them. I want to be able to sit in my bed without the knowledge that terror is one misjudged movement away.
Fuck you Ikea. Fuck you Aspelund. Fuck you wood. Fuck you gravity. Fuck you that horrible sensation you get in your gut when you hear the slats fall, and you have a split second before you follow them. Fuck you Liverpool (gratuitous, I know).
This post has taken me over three hours to write. Every time I hit a key, I hear the wood groan, creak and splinter. By the time I hit submit, I assume I'll be about a foot lower than my current position.
The missus bought an Aspelund range bedroom set from Ikea earlier this year. I made the whole thing in a day or two, and remember making the bed whilst eating a Greggs sausage and bean melt, and listening to Manchester United stick three past Liverpool thanks mainly to the zany actions of Pepe Reina. I believe his inner monologue, during that match, was a bit like a Terry Gilliam directing a Being John Malkovich type affair. But with Jerzy Dudek instead.
I don't really know what I'm on about.
But the bed. Oh, the bed. This mother fucker is killing me. Despite its luxurious comfort, and enviable size, the fucking thing is teasing, mocking, and possibly bullying us. The whole fucking thing keeps collapsing on us. And don't say it was caused by me putting it together badly, perhaps forgetting a vital bolt due to Nani slapping home the third goal, or because I dropped a bit of alarmingly greasy pastry down my shirt, it's nothing to do with that.
What happens is that the side of the bed warps, pushing out slightly, meaning the wooden slats the mattress lies on suddenly have nothing to rest on. This causes the mattress, and everything on it, to plunge to the ground. I lie there at night, listening to the sound of wood deforming, waiting, expecting, and knowing that soon, I'm hitting the ground like that fella form Linoclnshire who tampered with his own parachute.
Anyway. In the box of misery Ikea sent us, there were some metal support rods that you were meant to attach, but they kindly provided bolts not just the wrong size for the rods, but for the bed as well. I managed to imagineer a way around this (involving lots and lots of parcel string) but all that ultimately achieved was to break the support rods, and make me look like a bit of a dick.
I'm at my wits end with this. I don't want to know about solutions, I know of many that would do the job. I just don't want to have to do them. I want to be able to sit in my bed without the knowledge that terror is one misjudged movement away.
Fuck you Ikea. Fuck you Aspelund. Fuck you wood. Fuck you gravity. Fuck you that horrible sensation you get in your gut when you hear the slats fall, and you have a split second before you follow them. Fuck you Liverpool (gratuitous, I know).
This post has taken me over three hours to write. Every time I hit a key, I hear the wood groan, creak and splinter. By the time I hit submit, I assume I'll be about a foot lower than my current position.
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