2008-01-21 - 9:36 a.m.

You can’t sleep on the couch just any time. No, you have to reserve the pleasure for special occasions. It’s a wonderful indulgence but you can only do it sometimes, otherwise you start to get a reputation. You become the lazy asshole who sleeps on the couch with the drool on his chin and fuck all in his bank account. This is because alcohol is usually the deciding factor in one’s decision to sprawl on the couch, enshrouded in the throw, rather than making the perilous journey upstairs to bed. What you do is you think like this: ‘Fuck bed, man. The couch is right there! Why in the name of Jesus Christ the Saviour should I bother to climb all the way upstairs and take my clothes off just because that’s what’s expected of me? Fuck that noise, the couch is right fucking there!’ Let me reemphasise that: It’s right fucking there. It’s begging you to sleep on it. ‘Sleep on me, sleep on me, you know you want to, you know you’re going to. Sleep on me, you fucking King.’ That’s the sound it makes. That couch is sending out a siren song, whispering about blowjobs and cash rewards, if only you deign to lay upon its leathery goodness.

The bonus factor is that upon awakening one finds oneself fully clothed and ready to start drinking that glass of wine that has been left to stand so tantalisingly on the table from a presumptive hand the night before. You marvel at your own genius at this point. Holy shit, there’s a glass of wine! You become, before your own charred vision, a magnificent bastard. You’re only human, yes? Get rid of that fucking throw and swing your legs into a decent position. Damnit, man, pull yourself together. The day is prancing in front of you, swinging its bollocks around and just fucking begging you to grab them. The couch suddenly becomes a grotesque vessel, a cushioned tribute to thwarted ambition. You lurch off that motherfucker and never look back. It’s a girly, namby pamby fuck swamp. Only faggots reside on such a woeful convenience. Why sit down when you can stride across the land like the Ajax you are and know you’ve always been? One more sip of that sweet elixir and you’re ready to fuck the world right up and kick its fat ass out of bed. You’ve got stuff to do. Really big, important fucking things. Huge, weighty fucking deeds. It's a big fucking deal. You know it’s true. It’s right fucking there in front of your stupid fucking eyes. Grab it. Twist it. It’s not going to wait for you. We’re not on the couch any more, you massive fucking cunt. You magnificent bastard.

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