A true story about those tags:
C has this chair that he calls the Nookie Rocker. It’s orange and short and mod and he likes it for strumming guitar because it has no arms. I fucking hate the Nookie Rocker and it hates me. Every single time I sit in it, it rocks too far back and projectile vomits me backward onto the floor. Every. Single. Time.
Early in our relationship, for a very brief moment, I started to feel better about this as I noticed the Nookie Rocker was about to do the very same thing to C. However, C had the unlikely grace to do a backward somersalt with it and somehow bounced into a perfect upright stance on his feet.
Upon which, C’s roommate at the time (I call him Pint Glass), without even looking up, deadpan-snorted, “Physics has laws. You don’t.”
This has nothing to do with cairns.
