I was sitting on the sofa. It was a reclining future-sofa with a built-in kettle, toaster and toilet. It was a future-sofa because this was the future. The fact I hadn’t stood up for three weeks was beginning to bother me. I should maybe have mentioned that earlier. I hadn’t stood up for three weeks. I had always been lazy, and that sofa was comfortable, but three weeks? Something was clearly up. So I craned round and looked behind the cushions and found this black hole, which had obviously been exerting a gravitational pull on me and stopping me from getting up. For three weeks.
The full enormity of this discovery was pretty overwhelming and a lot for one man to have to think about, so to take my mind off it I switched on the telly to watch The Most Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle shouting at a promiscuous human/rabbit hybrid who had been neglecting her 73 children and sleeping with the human/chicken hybrid who lived next door.
Whether it was the slight but persistent gravitational pull of the black hole, or the timeless charisma of Jeremy Kyles, I couldn’t say, but here I am still sitting on this sofa above a small but powerful black hole watching An Even More Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle having a shout at a cash-poor human/marmot hybrid on the telly a month later. Send help. My sofa is full of shit.
This story is dedicated to The Most Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle who sadly died of furiousness during its writing.
Why I’m Still Sat Down by Harris
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