Doomchair: Chair of Doom

ChairAs I explained in a PREVIOUS ARTICLE, an office supply store contacted me recently asking if I would agree to post a shill review of a "FREE CHAIR" they would send me. I declined the offer on moral grounds, and by moral grounds I mean I didn't feel like writing a stupid article about a boring chair.
But then I got to thinking: What if I do write that article after all...but instead of writing it about one of their chairs, I'll write it about a different chair. Yeah! That'll be great! Then not only will I NOT receive a free chair, but I'll also still have to waste an hour and a half writing a pointless and uninteresting chair-related article which nobody would possibly have any interest in reading anyway.

Here I go.

The Chair

Dim OfficeIn a room, there was a chair. Each morning a man would come into the office, sit down in The Chair, and begin the day's work. The Chair loved this. There was nothing he loved more than to feel the flabby cheeks of the man's behind pressing down upon his cushion. He derived gratification from it. Sometimes, the man would adjust himself in The Chair, scooting back and forth and left and right, perhaps passing a small amount of gas into The Chair. The Chair was especially fond of this, and on such occasions tiny shivers of pleasure would shoot up and down his chairspine.

One day, the man got up from The Chair, walked to the door, turned out the lights, and left. The next day, The Chair waited eagerly for the man to return, but he did not. A day passed. And another. And another. And still the man did not return. The Chair became sad. If he were a person, The Chair almost certainly would have paid a visit to his physician and subsequently been diagnosed with some form of mild to moderate clinical depression and would likely have been prescribed some medication which would have helped him deal with the deep sadness he felt. But of course The Chair was not a person. He was a chair. And so he sat alone in his room, longing to feel the weight of a human pressing down upon him once again.

Years passed. Soon the light in the room came on, and a man entered. It was not the man from before, but a different man. The Chair did not mind. He became very excited.
"This man is going to sit in me," he thought, "I shall be happy once again!"
But the man did not seem very interested in sitting. Instead, he walked over to The Chair and grasped him roughly by his pole.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Chair wondered, "What is going on?"
"You're coming with me, chair!" the man growled.
"Oh dear." thought The Chair.

HallwayThe man took The Chair and carried him out of the room. He carried him down a dim hallway and out into a larger room. Along the walls, dozens of humans were cheering and laughing. The man sat The Chair in the center of the room and spun him.
"This doesn't seem so bad." The Chair said to himself.
"Hooray! Kill the chair!" one the humans shouted.
"Let the gutters run black with chair blood!" cried another.
"That's interesting..." thought The Chair, swiveling on his base.
SmashyThe man who had brought him in drew back a booted foot, and kicked The Chair as hard as he could.
"Take that you lousy chair!" he said.
"Aaaaahh." thought The Chair, crashing into a wall.
Three large men strode towards The Chair, metal baseball bats clutched in their hands.
"Smash 'em up good!" the first said, and patted his bat into his palm.

"Mmm." said the second, cracking his back.
"Yeah! Yeah!" added the third, dancing in place.
ToppledThe men began striking at The Chair with the bats. One man pinged his bat off The Chair's base, toppling him onto his side.
"Help help." cried The Chair, silently. "Help help."

The crowd roared with contempt as the blows rained down. The first man began pounding at The Chair's wheels with his bat, popping each of them off, one by one. The second hammered gleefully on his armrests, bending and deforming them beyond recognition. The third crouched low, off to the side, and jabbed at The Chair's undercarriage with the handle of his bat, letting out tiny yelps with each blow. Suddenly a frenzied young woman, unable to contain her hatred any longer, rushed out from the crowd and grasped The Chair by his spine, wrenching and pulling and screaming with murderous rage.
The Chair's topcushion ripped free from it's bolts, sending the woman sprawling to the floor. A geyser of thick black oil gurgled from the wound. She climbed to her feet, holding the topcushion above her head while howling at the top of her lungs. The crowd cheered wildly. And the Chair's spine dangled limply, just above her head.

Some time later, a man was spotted by police hefting the gnarled remains of what appeared to be an office chair into a rusted dumpster behind an office complex. The officers thought nothing of it, and continued to eat pick through the box of pastries they had recently purchased at a nearby deli.