Fan Fiction
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“Every Couch Tells a Story”
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“You’re safe here, Tina.”
“How would you know?”
“I know these things.”
“Yeah, but if I might put this bluntly,” the blonde contemplated the phrasing.
“Blunt on.”
“You’re a couch.”
Yes, Tina Kennard had found herself in conversation at her own former and current ‘not my’ home. She had thought that perhaps she might talk to Bette. Bette was the one who had said that the two of them should talk. But here she was, in the house and making small talk with the furniture.
“I am the couch,” the couch stated, sounding somewhat more important than its thread count might dictate.
“What?”
“I’m the couch of despair.”
“I thought you were from Crate and Barrel or one of those type shops.”
“My source does not matter.”
“What does matter?”
“Well, it matters to me that you didn’t spew on me.”
Tina looked at the mess in the large glass container that was purportedly Bette’s latest masterpiece. “You’re welcome.” Personally, Tina thought the added color only improved the piece.
“And it matters that people who are down and in despair are the only ones that end up using me lately.”
“Is that so?”
“When you lived here, Tina, you sat here. For a while I was afraid of your water breaking here.”
“I had a child didn’t I?”
“Yes,” the couch confirmed. “Don’t change the subject.”
“What is the subject?”
“The subject is the fact that lately anyone who’s down and out gets parked her, on me.”
“So?”
“So. It’s bumming me out.”
“That so.” As odd as it was to be speaking with the couch, Tina found that the conversation flowed much more naturally than it did with some people, such as the supposed next-door author.
“Yes. It’s now you.”
“And before?”
“Before it was Kit, after she was robbed.”
“Kit slept on the couch? Who else?”
“Have you seen your daughter recently?”
“Who?”
“Does Angelica sound familiar?”
“Was Angelica down and out?”
“Actually, she was removed for safekeeping, but that’s a different matter.”
“Oh.” Tina glanced behind the couch just to be sure that her daughter hadn’t been stowed somewhere simple. “Will she come back?”
“That depends on story need and child labor laws, probably.”
“Okay. So, um, what do you want from me, your couchness?”
“I want to stop being a moping spot.” The couch heaved a heavy sigh. “I used to be the couch of sumptin sumptin.”
“When was that?”
“Wait. That wasn’t you. Nevermind.”
“Nevermind my ass.”
“It’s not important.”
Tina grumbled at that assessment.
“What is important,” the couch continued, “is that I resume my work.”
“Your real work is to shut up and be a couch.”
“I am not a couch.”
“How Magritte. Bette doesn’t like the surrealists much.”
“Her loss. But what’s important is that I resume my real work.”
“And that work is?”
“Ninja furniture.”
“Ninja furniture?”
“Yes. I’m covered in fabric. I’m a ninja.”
“Ninjas aren’t beige.”
“I’m camouflaged.”
“And,” Tina rolled over onto her back, “couches don’t talk. It must have been the brownies.”
With that she fell back asleep.
Until of course, she awoke finding that she had fallen to the floor. About that time she could have sworn the couch was snickering. But, like a good ninja, the couch never shared its secrets. It just lay in wait for its next chance to attack.
Thus ends the tale of the Couch of Despair.
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Hil-ar-i-ous!!! I have a big, dumb grin on my face!
Excellent, Couch. I have taught you well.
The couch is a correspondence school ninja.
I’m so glad I stayed up to catch this interaction. Two lines made me laugh out loud…the couch was “bummed”, and then Tina said “never mind my ass”. Oh Tina, I could NEVER mind your ass…
p.s. I think you’re busted.
Busted? I am Soap, meek and small.
if soap is busted, tell who she is!! AllI know was, this is too funny, and long ago, Bette slept on the couch of despair, and despaired, when she had gone astray with Candace.
Yeah really I want to know who Soapy is as well.
Soap is not floor wax or dessert topping.
but who IS soap!! this is the question! I for one am really glad soap is not dessert topping cos that would taste really bad.
People, I can reveal everything. Soap is. As is the couch. I’m just grateful to know where Angelica is. Or isn’t. Isn’t that enough?
Yhis so so funny, Love the Ninja part.
I clean..therefore I am Soap?
You know, i had a similar discussion with my couch. mine told me to quit reading nc17 fanfic on it unless i was prepared to clean the spots….it has now filed a petition against the senseless and ritualistic torture and misuse of couches. just kidding, of course, i generally read fanfic in my office chair. lol
you my soap are meek and small/But I dare say your words stand tall/above the crowd you speak with diction/it identifies unique fan fiction
Again, not sure of Soaps ID, but remain confident we’d recognize the AKA. I’ve never had pot brownies, but I’ve had plenty of both pot and brownies. Neither made me want to puke. Nor did either make my sofa speak. Or should that be couch? Davenport maybe?
Should I protest?/Should I say ‘no’?/That all takes effort/And I must go.
If correctly we do guess/drop the soap should indeed say yes/ But in the meantime/we do implore/that soap of mystery, legend and lore/will soon and soonest post once more.
Oh ho, I know who you are now….I only know one lovable loony tune who talks like this…. I put my money on helebette!!!
Ms. helebette, I believe I owe you either an apology or my sympathies; perhaps both.
why is that?? I also do not hear any statements stating that you are NOT helebette!!!
The Soap earns fans who love to take stars. The leastest is the mostest and the bestest.
At least people aren’t pointing fingers at me. I’m not cool enough to be Soapy.