Ode to Clint Eastwood from an innocent chair

I think of myself as simple, elegant and utilitarian. I make so few demands on people. I just do what I do, supporting their increasingly lard-ish butts so they can take a load off for a while.

And you dress me down. On national television. You even talked back to me when I pleaded with you to just shut up. I have served you so well for…what, nine decades? And you light into me like this in front of everybody?

People still really like you, even after this bizarro incident, but you’re at an age where those bones don’t hold up as well as they used to. I’m just sayin’. And if you ever haul me in front of a spotlight again and talk smack about me to my, um, seat, I might just let one of my legs sort of fold over a bit the next time you put me to use. That might end badly for you, and nobody really wants that.

So the next time you want to talk tough, please make sure you’re addressing an actual person, not the thing that holds up the actual person. Thanks so much.

Previously: Not much convention nostalgia | Hokum home

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