I want my bed to look like the health department is checking for bedbugs. I want to feel like it’s on an episode of Maury getting scanned for semen. I want to wait through the commercial break to find out the father.
I want it to have the LEDs of a million nerd PCs hooked up beneath my springs. I want the bed to run Battlefield at max settings with an advanced water cooling system. I want to order room service and upgrade the videocard, and own countless noobs for brunch. I want to host a queen-sized Lan party among these Mountain Dew stained sheets. I want the mattress custom built by Alienware.
I want my Tempurpedic tricked out like a 98 Honda Civic. I want decals with these sick lights, a ton of them. I want dragons and skulls and more dragons running up the headboard with Japanese writing that I can only assume says Tokyo Drift. I want to order custom lights and have my cousin botch the instillation. I want these lights to flicker whenever my muffler rattles. I want to pull this bed up to a red light and have everyone do that thing where they put their hands up to their mouth and say, “dizaaaaamn.”
I want the bed to change color based on my mood. I want it blue when I’m sleepy, purple when I’m listening to Prince, and I want it orange at private times I don’t want to talk about. I want the pillows linked to social media for strangers to Like. I want to download additional colors in the app store. I want to be up all night just looking at my glowing bed. I want to see that blue filter through my eyelids and leak into my dreams. I want to stay up all night so I can focus on dipshit accessories from a hotel trying too hard.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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