Hunting Yuppies at IKEA
If you’re ever forced – probably by a vengeful girlfriend - to go to IKEA, follow this simple advice, and you should get through the experience with your spirit intact. And you’ll probably never be forced to IKEA by that girlfriend again. If she’s even still your girlfriend.
First off, this isn’t something to be rushed, you just evolve into it naturally. So you start out at IKEA in the standard way, following a winding path through a jungle of sad yuppie bedrooms and living rooms and rooms that aren’t always identifiable to the average lackey. A jungle over grown with throwrug and toddler undergrowth, a twisting turning path of death and decay and lost hopes and forgotten dreams. A jungle of floorlamp trees and cabinet foliage, where the cries of predators are heard over loudspeakers, echoing off bookshelf displays and kitchen displays and bathroom displays of dubious merit and taste.
Soon you discover, as all great hunters and warriors will, that the jungle is not an easy place to negotiate and survive. Your spirit is weakened in this environment – the constant drumming of three-year-olds on pots and pans, the air humid with yuppie bargain sensing sweat, the onstant meaningless chatter of your girlfriend’s friends (looking for something with character in a bulk buy warehouse), and this goddam path that seems to lead you in circles. You are unnerved, and you need a way to fight back. I’m telling you: You need a weapon.
Find a box of some sort that can be fashioned into a gun, or at least a gun-like box. Floorlamp boxes are particularly good for this. Get one that’s square, with a gun-barrel-like extension from one edge. Hopefully it’s big enough to rival Jesse Ventura’s gun from predator, but so long as you know what it is, that the main thing. Now, hoist your gun and stand broad across that damn path, ad the next yuppie that tries to make their way past you, blast them full on with all actions and gun noises necessary. They'll get out of your way. Shoot your girlfriend. Shoot her friends who she’s discussing colour schemes with right now. Shoot the goddam toddlers. Most importantly of all, shoot the goddam toddlers.
You’ll quickly find that your way has been cleared, and it is much easier to move swiftly to the exit, you’ll probably have your girl’s full cooperation in this endeavour as she realises that you are the alpha male and she should forgo comparing slightly different cutlery sets and follow you, for ancient evolutionary survival reasons. Don’t forget to shoot up the café on the way out, that’s important too. If for some reason your girlfriend is not cooperating, then you have a choice to make. You can blast your way out regardless, and leave her for evolutionarily dead. You can do that. I prefer to climb to the top of one of the storage shelving units, and sit atop the boxes like a primal jungle lord. I prefer then to level my gunsights at passing yuppies and snipe them, nay, smite them, from existence. If they don’t run when they hear your “Bang!” then yell at them that they’re dead. Once they understand the underlying truth, they’ll be crushed and die quickly:
“You’re dead!”
“What? I am? No I’m not, I seem to be perfectly alive, my pulse is… oh. I see. Metaphorically. Metaphorically, the strangely captivating man on the top of the shelves is already right.”
“Damn right I am.”
“Arrgh…”
Nothing better than telling it how it is. Immediate results. Pretty soon, your girlfriend will climb the mounting pile of corpses and apologise for being so slow, evolutionarily speaking, and beg you to take her home. You ought to take her and go, as by now you’ve made your point.
First off, this isn’t something to be rushed, you just evolve into it naturally. So you start out at IKEA in the standard way, following a winding path through a jungle of sad yuppie bedrooms and living rooms and rooms that aren’t always identifiable to the average lackey. A jungle over grown with throwrug and toddler undergrowth, a twisting turning path of death and decay and lost hopes and forgotten dreams. A jungle of floorlamp trees and cabinet foliage, where the cries of predators are heard over loudspeakers, echoing off bookshelf displays and kitchen displays and bathroom displays of dubious merit and taste.
Soon you discover, as all great hunters and warriors will, that the jungle is not an easy place to negotiate and survive. Your spirit is weakened in this environment – the constant drumming of three-year-olds on pots and pans, the air humid with yuppie bargain sensing sweat, the onstant meaningless chatter of your girlfriend’s friends (looking for something with character in a bulk buy warehouse), and this goddam path that seems to lead you in circles. You are unnerved, and you need a way to fight back. I’m telling you: You need a weapon.
Find a box of some sort that can be fashioned into a gun, or at least a gun-like box. Floorlamp boxes are particularly good for this. Get one that’s square, with a gun-barrel-like extension from one edge. Hopefully it’s big enough to rival Jesse Ventura’s gun from predator, but so long as you know what it is, that the main thing. Now, hoist your gun and stand broad across that damn path, ad the next yuppie that tries to make their way past you, blast them full on with all actions and gun noises necessary. They'll get out of your way. Shoot your girlfriend. Shoot her friends who she’s discussing colour schemes with right now. Shoot the goddam toddlers. Most importantly of all, shoot the goddam toddlers.
You’ll quickly find that your way has been cleared, and it is much easier to move swiftly to the exit, you’ll probably have your girl’s full cooperation in this endeavour as she realises that you are the alpha male and she should forgo comparing slightly different cutlery sets and follow you, for ancient evolutionary survival reasons. Don’t forget to shoot up the café on the way out, that’s important too. If for some reason your girlfriend is not cooperating, then you have a choice to make. You can blast your way out regardless, and leave her for evolutionarily dead. You can do that. I prefer to climb to the top of one of the storage shelving units, and sit atop the boxes like a primal jungle lord. I prefer then to level my gunsights at passing yuppies and snipe them, nay, smite them, from existence. If they don’t run when they hear your “Bang!” then yell at them that they’re dead. Once they understand the underlying truth, they’ll be crushed and die quickly:
“You’re dead!”
“What? I am? No I’m not, I seem to be perfectly alive, my pulse is… oh. I see. Metaphorically. Metaphorically, the strangely captivating man on the top of the shelves is already right.”
“Damn right I am.”
“Arrgh…”
Nothing better than telling it how it is. Immediate results. Pretty soon, your girlfriend will climb the mounting pile of corpses and apologise for being so slow, evolutionarily speaking, and beg you to take her home. You ought to take her and go, as by now you’ve made your point.
posted by Lackey | 5:58 pm
2 Comments:
...and don't forget to grab an ikea bbqed sausage on the way out to fill the void created by all that walking in circles and blasting unsuspecting yuppies.
Well ok, an IKEA sausage is cool, as long as you don't have to assemble it yourself. You probably miss out a screw and it would fall apart in your gut, leading to all kinds of problems later in life. Or something.
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