The couch
September 05, 2005

It was old. It was abused. It kinda smelled. It was broken. It was ripped. It was stained. It was separated.


It was our couch.


The couch was a major part of the magic that was the Cockpit. To catch some of you up to speed, the Cockpit was our apartment through college. It was called the Cockpit because… well, that’s what it was – three (sometimes four or five) cocks under one roof. To be fair though, there were a couple girls that lived there during the time but their influence wasn’t strong enough to discourage everyone we knew from calling apartment 132 "the Cockpit." One of the girls, who we will refer to henceforth as Gigantor, wasn’t there for very long but did Katrina like damage to the apartment. Once, while cooking spaghetti, she gave herself second degree burns on her feet. Yeah, you read that right – on her feet. Apparently, she wasn’t aware that during the process of cooking noodles, the pan that facilitates the cooking gets very hot. Not knowing this fact, she picks the pan up with her bare hands, gets burned and drops the pan on the floor, spilling the contents everywhere. The boiling hot water burned her feet and ruined both the kitchen floor and one of Jeff’s favorite undergarments (don’t ask).


But we digress. This isn’t a column about stupid chick roommates named Gigantor, this is a column about the couch.


The couch has seen everything. And we mean EVERYTHING. It’s been sat on, slept on, jumped on, screwed on, puked on, farted on and probably masturbated on but no one will admit to it. There are several stories both clean and otherwise that are told regularly at parties featuring the couch.


Despite all that has happened on the couch, it was never cleaned. There was a half-assed attempt to repair it but that was quickly abandoned both out of laziness and aggravation. Why was the couch left in this state seemingly disrepair? For fear that the magic would stop. Being fans of mythology, we all remember the story of Samson. What happened when he cut his hair? The magic stopped. If we were to clean or fix up the couch in any way, the magic would have stopped. And we were having way too much for it to stop.


Case in point. When we got the couch, it was in two pieces and over time, one of the sections was broken up pretty badly. Maybe it was the jumping onto it from the second story but who knows. Before we moved out of the Cockpit, the broken section of the couch was given to a friend of Aaron’s who promptly fixed it. Did said friend get any action while in possession of the couch? No. He said he did, but we all knew that he is a liar. A dirty, filthy liar who couldn’t get a girl to sleep with him if he drugged her and put her in his bed. That’s right David, if you’re reading this you know who you are! And if you are a new friend of David’s, know that he lies… a lot. Especially about getting laid. He wouldn’t know a vagina if one hit him in the face.


Another column, and another digression.


The couch’s origin is fairly humble. Jeff got it as a hand out from our aunt and uncle when he moved from the dorms to his own place. That place was, for lack of a better word a shit-hole. But it was cheap so there was more money for beer and parties. Good times had and the couch witnessed it all.


Aaron’s shining memory of the couch? Well there are two. The first being the time Aaron was sitting on the couch too drunk to move and before his eyes a defining moment unfolded. There was a party and many people were drinking, including Super Dyke, a friend of Mr. Mike Perry. Earlier in the day, Super Dyke had broken up with her girlfriend and was intent to get as sloppy drunk as she could. And that she did courtesy of a few shots of Bacardi 151 and many other fruity flavored drinks. As she was on the porch crying, the urge to vomit came over her and instead of throwing up over the balcony as any other self respecting drunk would do, she decided to run into the Cockpit to throw up inside. Now keep in mind the decision to run inside was made as she was in the process of throwing up. Aaron just sat there on the couch and watched, to drunk and to helpless to do anything. Damn that was a comfy couch. The second memory was hearing Caleb fuck a fat chick on the couch and then deny it later. Good times.


So here we are many, many years and many mysterious stains later, the couch has been passed on to another. Someone who is in desperate need of magic. It was a sad site to see the couch loaded into the truck. Tears were shed as it was unloaded and placed ever so lovingly in its new home… but it was meant to be. You can’t be selfish with a gift like the couch. Our time with the couch has run its course and it’s time for us to move on to bigger and newer couches.


Goodbye couch… we will miss you.


Oh, one more thing before we go. If you missed the symbolism (and it most certainly is there) then let us know and we’ll fill you in on the details.