Sitting

You need to understand my obsession with chairs. Thus far, every single chair I’ve come across has given me the compulsory urge to sit on it. And I don’t mean to just sit on it. I mean to really **sit** on it. To **feel** it.

To become one with it.

I hadn’t encountered a single chair that didn’t do this to me. Chairs others deem monstrously ugly. Chairs others deem torturous, like electric chairs, spiked chairs, or electric spiked chairs.

Whenever I saw a picture of a chair, or even heard or read any passing mention of a chair, I would immediately feverishly track down the chair in question in order to seat myself upon it. My friends left me and my family disowned me for my chair-related behaviour. All musea around the world have banned me for sitting on all of their exhibited chairs. I’m wanted in 126 states for breaking into people’s houses and treating my derrière to their furniture.

To say I loved chairs would be the understatement of not just the century, but of ever since time immemorial. I felt deeply connected to chairs on a spiritual and metaphysical level.

That is, until today. When I saw that chair you sent this morning, it shattered my entire sense of reality. How betrayed I felt, easily beat all top 100 anime betrayals of all time *combined*, with distance. I fell into a severe existential crisis, followed by a deep depression. I burned all 14.159 of my chairs, which happened to be the entirety of my house, and buried the ashes, before moving away as far as I could. I got addicted to every drug under the sun, and had to seek out professional help to help me out of that pitch-black place. I’m doing better now, but I now have to live with severe cathedraphobia for the rest of my life. I found a new home with exclusively standing furniture, and it gave me chronic back pain. I got a new wife and kids, and I hate all of them. My life is in an infinitely worse state than ever before today, and your chair is to blame for all of it.

It’s so god-awful, so hellish in nature, so absolutely revolting, I wouldn’t wish the devil themselves to catch even half a glimpse of it. This yellow is far beyond how traumatising I considered any colour is possible of being. Its bulging intestines are orders of magnitude more upsetting than the most disturbing horror media in existence. All evil in the universe must be trembling in ice cold fear for whatever force was responsible for the creation of this piece of furniture. I feel disgusting. I’m going to wash myself in my stand-up bathtub and never think about this again.

—hellomynameisjoe