As some of my regular readers may know (all three of them), I own a variety of evil devices. My keyboard was forged in some hellish nether-world. My GPS wants me to harvest Leigh for his organs, and I once had a toothbrush that I called Mr. Stabby for a variety of reasons.
Now I fear that my bed, the frame specifically, has gone to the side of evil. A Sith bed, if you like. Specifically, in the last three weeks, I’ve broken two toenails on it and once cracked my shin hard enough to almost make me pass out.
Yes, I know exactly what it feels like to almost, but not quite, pass out. It’s a weird feeling, best described as ‘BWAAAAAAH’ in a sort of vibrating bass. I know this because my old kung-fu instructor, Dave, had what we would euphemistically describe as ‘heavy hands.’ Ie, he felt that pain tolerance was an essential skill and he would not hesitate to ‘train’ us.
Oh, it’s not like you would walk into the school and he’d punch you in the face. It was slightly more subtle. Sometimes, he’d feel the need to demonstrate something to the class.
“Hey, Jason,” he’d call out.
“Yeah,” I would answer, innocently enough.
I would, of course, walk over. “What’s up?”
“Throw a high right.”
I would regain my senses usually at the point where he was saying something like “and that’s how you use that move.”
NOTE: It may be Stockholm Syndrome, but man, I do miss that school.
So, at any rate, my only conclusion is that my bed has turned to the path of evil. As I said, two cracked toe-nails and one shin-on-wood BWAAAAAH do not lie. Now, I don’t know what would make a good bed go bad. Money, perhaps. Fame. Fortune. The chance to have someone other than a large, hairy, gaseous man lying on it.
All I know is that it’s (technically) inanimate and I have three axes of varying sizes scattered around the apartment. I figure I’ll give it one more cracked toe-nail and then it gets to find out what BWAAAAAAH feels like.