Trashed On The Street

Dear Madison & Kelsey,

I’ll never truly understand why you would do me so dirty as to literally kick me to the curb. I lived with you for six years while you were both trying to get your Associate’s degree in dental assisting. I was good enough for you to sit on, eat on, study on, hook up with random people on…hell I even let your Aunt Flo sit on me – except for that one month Kelsey was on a bender and forgot to take her “medicine” and Aunt Flo decided not to visit. Apparently I was good enough then, but I’m not now. Now that you both have jobs and make more than zero dollars an hour, you think you can play me like this? You couldn’t even donate me or better yet burn me. Because I’d rather die than live with such betrayal.

And just so you know, I heard about your new couch from Ikea. IKEA!? You chose to be dirty Swedish socialists rather than represent the stars and stripes?? I hope you enjoy standing in line for days just to get your Pinkberry fix because getting yogurt ice cream outside of America is no easy feat. They don’t even have brownie bites as a topping option.

HOWEVER, there is still time for you to make this right. You two vapid hoes can come back and pick me up before one more homeless man makes sweet love to himself on me. I can’t take being out on this curb one more day. As you can see the vultures on the streets of Hollywood have left me naked without my cushions with nothing more than an empty bottle of some drunk community college drop-out’s urine and napkins that were later used to blow his coke-filled nose. No former fine piece of furniture that was once featured on the Macy’s showroom floor and on the front page of their ads seven times in 1999 should have to live like this.

Therefore, I am putting you both on blast. I hope that this will encourage one kind citizen out there to save me by returning me to my rightful two bedroom apartment on Gardner Avenue in West Hollywood. And if that is not possible, please grab some gasoline and a match and put me out of my misery.

In closing, you’re both basic and I hate you. I hope you get run over by a pack of crotch rockets while crossing Hollywood Boulevard in your ratchet Charlotte Russe wedges.

Your Former Sofa,

Sophia

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You think you’re better than me!?! You’ll never be better than me. I am a lady of fabric and comfort. You two scallywags ain’t about this life.

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