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!
Posts
