This Couch Feels...Scratchy.

I told Will the other day how much I miss living in a real urban setting for many reasons; hearing “FUCK YOU!” screamed out in the middle of the night, stepping in dog shit, loud horns honking, the smell of urine, cigarettes and stale booze and plenty of eclectic-eccentric individuals...and all this is just what took place in my bedroom.

I used to live in an old neighborhood; Ohio City, west of West 25th Street in Cleveland, Ohio. Bridge Avenue to be more precise, just around the corner from two favorite restaurants; Johnny Mango’s and The Fulton Bar & Grill. I completely shit my pants one evening while having dinner with a friend at Johnny Mango’s, but that’s another story for another time (WARNING: Don't mix a carrot/apple juice blend with Jamaican Jerk Chicken).

Well, living there, I managed to find some real treasures (antique leather bound books, old wood carved furniture, etc.) out on the curb awaiting the garbage truck. To my benefit, people didn’t realize what they were throwing out.

When Will and I were reminiscing recently, Will said, “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was living in San Francisco and I had a friend who found a great antique couch out on the curb? Well, he brought it into my apartment and was sleeping on it because he needed a place to stay. A few days later he had crabs and realized that the couch was infested with them. So, we dragged it back out onto the curb for the garbage truck.”

And he continued.

“Well, someone else grabbed it before trash pick-up and brought it into their place. And then, a couple of days later it ended up on the curb again. Then, another neighbor saw it, must have loved it and took it into their home. And…a few days later, it found its way back to the curb again. This went on for a little while, until no doubt the whole neighborhood had crabs.”

So I asked, “Why didn’t you guys put a sign on it saying that it had crabs?”

Will responded, “I don’t know...people figured it out though.”

Me; "What? So did you hear people freaking out, scratching the living daylights out of their danger zones, screaming damnation at that blasted couch?"


"AAAHHHHH!!!! I’M GONNA SCRATCH MY PENIS (or puss) RIGHT OFF!!! AAAAHHHHH!!! THAT FUCKING COUCH!!! BURN IT! BURN IT!!"

Will; “No...but it was pretty funny. Don’t you think?”

Unfortunately, yes…I do.


Apparently, Darth Vader lived in the same neighborhood. Having an "itch" underneath that hot little number can NOT be fun.