I sleep in a giant bed. Seriously. It's so big I sublet sections of it to migrant families and we don't run into each other at night. It's so big it has a maximum occupancy sign from the fire marshall. It's so big it's getting its own bailout. My bed is too big to fail.
I got this bed years ago. It retailed for about $2500 but it only cost me about $500. I tell you this not to brag; if I wasn't getting the bed so cheaply I never would have bought it. I tell you this because of why the bed was so cheap: the bed had been filmed and by law (apparently), a bed can't be sold as new if it's been filmed. Huh. What kind of production would require filming a bed? That's right: a furniture store commerical. If you were thinking porn, congratulations. You intrigue me and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter. We should party sometime.
But, even though the bed is great (despite a lack of porn star patronage), every once in a while I wake up with shooting pains in my back. There are several possible causes: my girlfriend could be secretly taking Ambien and instead of driving or eating cigarette butts in her sleep she is jabbing me with pointy objects all night long; it could have something to do with the pit bull we share a bed with; maybe it's strain and pain involved with my secret crime fighting activities.
Forget that last part.
At any rate it might be time to look for a replacement.
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