endedben

That's a huge free couch. We found it about a mile from home and, couchless, we yoiinked it. It's far better, we figure, to DIY than C.O.D. We're broke jokes, folks.

"Oh man, Free couch!" Says Gabe, roommate to the stars and guitarist for this band.

"It's our, Hombre!" Says Ben, a man of ill repute.

Do you like ruined knees, muscles torn asunder, and jeans ripped to shreds? Well, then, you should have been there. All that and more, my friends. It took us upwards of two hours to move this bad boy a few city (NEW YORK CITY?!!?!) blocks. We stopped by some bakery and ate some weird apple stuff on the sideway, plopped lazily and oddly on the hideous furniture.

We finally made it home and now we have a couch that looks disgusting. It's some horrible grandma rose garden pattern. It's huge and comfortable, and part of me wants to set it on fire. Why is that?



That's the end, there isn't anymore.


EDIT: PLEASE BUY ME THIS. THANKS.