Critical Analysis - Beanbag Chairs

Often, late at night, when left alone with my thoughts.. my mind wanders to the same place. I don’t know exactly why it is, or what brings me there, but it’s seemingly without fail. I cannot keep the beanbag chair off my mind. It’s invaded my conscious like a sick virus; yet one that I invite the presence of. One I adore, even as it kills me. It’s like an addiction, almost, these beanbag chairs. How I long to be a beanbag chair, if only for one second! Just to be for one second a graceful and majestic beanbag chair, I would surely give up all of the spoils in the world; shave twenty years off my lifespan, slice off twenty centimeters of my manhood, slash the heads off of twenty good men, give up the word ‘twenty’ for the rest of my life, stop making commas into my overworked slave bitch, declare an end to the abuse of parallel structure as means of inflating my word count.

The beanbag chair. By this point I’d usually awaken by now. Most likely staring at the lucky bastard. That stupid beanbag chair thought it was such hot shit, being all comfortable and vibrantly colored and adaptive to weight shifts. Who was I kidding? That beanbag chair WAS hot shit. The hottest shit around. Each day, I bet it soaks in its own disgusting glory, silently churning in its own white pellet-y innards; clearly taunting me through an unspoken word.

                “Fuck you, you’re not a beanbag chair”

Words. Unspoken words. That’s what the beanbag chair would say to me. There is no way to retaliate to the beanbag chair. The initial thought is that perhaps you could humiliate it by sitting on it. However, upon this approach the only one humiliated is yourself, for being foolish enough to hate a seat so damn comfortable. So next, you naturally jump on it. Only, as you leap fervently, you realize that each vicious landing has barely connected with the chair, which seems to be dodging your blows with strategic shifts.

There is no outsmarting the beanbag chair. There is no outliving the bean bag chair. There is no more words in this blog entry.