THRIFT STORE COUCH
Bento and MW are perusing a thrift store, when a gravelly SOUND is heard coming from inside a grey COUCH. Bento turns his attention towards the couch.
COUCH: ( to Bento ) Hey, Buddy… I like them sneakers.
BENTO: What?
COUCH: You… with the round head and the Iron Man junior varsity suit on… I like your sneakers.
Bento looks closer at the couch and sees two eyes staring out at him.
BENTO: You talking to me?
COUCH: Yeah, Buddy, you most certainly fit my aforementioned description.
BENTO: Oh…( concern ) are you okay?
COUCH: Yeah, I’m goooood, thanks for asking. How are you, Buddy?
BENTO: I’m doing okayyyyy. I’m mean- are you stuck inside this couch or something? Do you need help getting out?
COUCH: Getting out?
BENTO: Yes… getting out…
The couch falls silent, its eyes continue to stare out at Bento.
BENTO: …. of the couch.
COUCH: Ahhhhh… you seem to have misappropriated my position, Buddy.
BENTO: What do you mean?
COUCH: I am… the couch.
BENTO: What do you mean you are the couch? From where I sit, it looks like you’re inside the couch. As if you were sleeping on the couch at some point in recent time, and somehow got wrapped up inside the couch. So… I’m saying if you need help getting out of there, here’s your chance. If not… duces and truces to you.
COUCH: I am telling you, Buddy, that I am an integral, physiological part of this furniture. And that any attempt to dislodge me from its framework would result in a catastrophic calamity.
BENTO: Meaning?
COUCH: Motherfucka, I am the couch!
BENTO: Okay… I’m done. Did you really have to go all Samuel L. Jackson on me? I mean- I offered to help you out of a predicament and this is the thanks I get?!
COUCH: And I gave you a compliment and this is the thanks I get?!
BENTO: What… what compliment?
COUCH: I said I liked your sneakers.
BENTO: Some compliment… generic at best. I suspect some ulterior motive lurking inside that cushioned spring box of yours. Am I right?
COUCH: No, you’re not right! And… how was your offer of help beneficial to me in any way, shape, or form, when it would be like pulling my lungs out?!
BENTO: You know what… fuck you!
COUCH: No, fuck you, Buddy!
BENTO: No, fuck you, and stop calling me Buddy! Why do you keep calling me that?
MW has caught wind of the exchange between Bento and the Couch and has come over to see what’s the matter.
COUCH: Because I heard this guy call you that earlier. Is Buddy not your name?
MW: No, his name is Bento. ( looks around puzzled ) Wait, who the fuck am I talking to?
BENTO: ( pointing ) Nobody, except for this asshole inside this couch.
MW: What the hell are you doing in that couch?
COUCH: Minding my own fucking beeswax. How bout you?
MW: Actually, I’m allergic to beeswax, so I can’t relate to that. However, it seems to me, you would have to be one stupid, dumb ass to try to mind your own beeswax while stuck inside a couch. I mean, there hardly seems like enough space in there to mind bees, let alone, wax.
COUCH: I am the goddamn couch!
MW: Okay, good enough. ( to Bento ) You ready? I can’t find anything in this thrift store I want to buy right now.
BENTO: Yeah, I’m ready.
COUCH: ( softens tone ) Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa, fellas, don’t rush off all angry and irate now. You know what… I apologize. I apologize for acting so disrespectful to you gents earlier. I was having a bad day, you know? People keep flopping down on me and… earlier, an old man with a ninety- five year old colon sat down on me and farted into the middle cushion… right over my head. And I just haven’t been my self since. Let’s start over, what do you say?
MW and Bento look at one another and then agree with nods.
BENTO: Okay… I’m sorry I called you an asshole.
MW: Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about thinking that assholes are usually found on the couch, but in this instance, the asshole was actually in the couch.
COUCH: You thought that?
MW: Yup.
COUCH: Wow, that’s pretty brutal. You know – thinking about someone in that way.
MW: Sorry.
COUCH: Stripping them of their humanity.
MW: I mean – does humanity really apply to this situation if you are the couch?
BENTO: ( to Couch ) Your words.
COUCH: I see what you’re saying, and that makes perfect sense. But you know what would make even better sense?
BENTO: What?
COUCH: If you guys would buy me. Take me home with you. I don’t smell musty and I don’t have bugs, I swear! I’m only 49.99!
BENTO: I knew it, I knew it! I knew you had an ulterior motive when you started off with that Buddy shit!
COUCH: No, no, no, no, I really thought Buddy was your name, Benzo.
MW: His name is Bento, Couch!
COUCH: My bad, Bento. I’m still light-headed from the fumes. C’mon fellas, buy me, free me from this thrift store nightmare place I’ve been stuck in for ages!
MW: Yeah, nobody wants you, Couch! Nobody wants a musty, thrift store threadbare, bug infested over grown sofa, with a noxious level of accumulated fart dust imbedded in the cushions. Accept it!
BENTO: Accept it, Couch!
MW and Bento leave the thrift store.
COUCH: I don’t accept that! No, one day someone will take me home. Someday I will be sat upon, relaxed upon, loved upon, and accessorized again. And as the sofa Gods are my witnesses, I will exact my revenge upon you two fuckwits for insulting me! I will have my revenge!
THEND