Gallery Gripes

I always thought galleries were for untouchable things like fancy paintings and sculptures of nekkid stuff that I never get to ordinarily see without a chaperone or a mirror. Why is it then, every stupid mattress and furniture joint who tries to sell overpriced polished n’ processed pine tree tables, and soft tops for beds label themselves a gallery? Who would buy a haughty hunk of wood to put next to your big puff n’ overstuffed ‘Sleep Number’ mattress if it’s ‘too terrific to touch or leave a water ring on either one of them?

How can I afford these high-brow furnishings anyway unless I break into my life savings glued under my hobo-hammock in a locked-box spring. Who knows, maybe the value of these ‘top drawer’ trappings is in the bed thread spun from 1000 count silken Egyptian skivvies; or possibly it’s that hard to make fancy footboard since calloused artisans always seem to put their ‘SOLES’ into their work. As far as I can tell though, the only thing that differentiates the price of the posh pads from my classy cot is an embellished embroidered cover, and the fact that my roll-a-way’s ‘ergo-WRONG-mics’ tend to disturb my bowling ball from its Brunswick slumber when I bound into bed.

if only I could get past both the yellow tags and the stains on Goodwill’s mattress bin,  I surely could find some MITEY fine bed bug buys at a bargain price, or at the very least an oversized plastic bag to play in. Oh sure the stuff hawked by those snobby spring-thing dandy dealers  at the mall smell a little fresher, but to be truly worthy of a gallery exhibition I think somebody famous should have expired on the ‘flattress’ first - or at least they should’ve been eating something expired. To the sales gurus credit though, I’ve heard that the memory foam carcass-cushions really do work; since you’ll never forget their sky-high prices  and will always remember that soft spot the salesman so smoothly shoved his ‘FUTON’ up to get you to buy.  

Hmmm on second thought instead of a bed, to save some ‘Green’, I guess I could always pound down a patch of it out on the lawn or commune with a trampoline as a bouncy bunk for bedtime. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking new bedding booty – it’s just that jungle bums like me usually find our sleep-time creature comforts in parks, landfills, and under overpasses. That strategy seems to work just fine for the ducks, deer, and bear … uh as long as they don’t wander into one of those expensive, high pressure arcade galleries – of the SHOOTIN’ kind!