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Burn the Sofa
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Be careful…you don’t know where that’s been.

I don’t have a lot of guests at my apartment. Partially because it’s an apartment, and partially because sex is had all over the place and I haven’t come to terms with how to sanitize fabric yet.

What is the proper etiquette for random acts of monkey sex? I know, as I sit watching television on my sofa, that I have had some gnarly nights on that thing. I can live with it because it’s my sweat and the sweat of the hottie that joined me, but I’m not so sure that my grandparents would want to sit there knowing that. I’m fairly sure they haven’t done any business on their sofa in fifty years or so, and it’s a ten-year-old sofa, so I feel relatively safe, other than their inherent creepy vibe that’s been there since the Depression. (The one from the last century, not this one.)

I feel kind of dirty in my dwelling, and I like it. However, I don’t wish to foist my nasty nights on someone else’s sensibilities. The kitchen floor is easy to clean. The chandelier won’t be touched and, as long as it is securely bolted to a cross beam, what’s the problem? Unless it isn’t…then all that swinging on it and carrying on all night is going to make it dangerous.

How do you know that if you go into someone else’s house that the chandelier isn’t going to come crashing down because the kids are at grandma’s for the weekend and mommy’s working out her pent-up rage on daddy? By the way, you need more weekends like that. You need to send the kids out and work out your problems and kinks utilizing the whole house.

Anyway, back to the sofa. A HAZMAT maid service? Give them a condom suit and some bleach and go to town. Or not. Unless you come from a culture that takes its shoes off before entering an abode, you track in all kinds of Hell from the outside world every day. Germs, germs, and more germs. Boost the immune systems! Invest in bleach manufacturing companies! Just don’t lick the floor, dumbass.

Though it’s hard not to lick the floor sometimes, especially when you are in a certain position that requires being face-down on the carpet. I love cheek to chin carpet burns, and I don’t care what’s on the floor. I don’t! I try, but I still don’t.

I do care about the chandelier, though. I belong to Chandelier Reinforcements Anonymous. In fact, I’m president. If I go into your house and the chandelier falls on my head, I’m gonna report you to the CRA and require a retrofitting. That is, if I live through it, you naughty, naughty neighbors.

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