Oddly enough, moving in with my girlfriend has turned me gay.
First step: Bedding. Chicks dig sheets, pillows, and thread count. I used to be fine with just two pillows. Now that I moved in with my gf, guess how many pillows there are on my bed. 4? No. 6? Nope. 97. There are 97 pillows on my bed. I have to sleep on the floor in order to make room for all the pillows on the bed. My pillows have pillows. "Nah, pillow. You've had a hard day. Kick back, yo."
I also have to buy a "loveseat." I'm convinced shopping for a loveseat is the gayest thing you can do. I'd rather just buy two gay men who are fucking to sit on. "Ricky, Raoul, keep it steady. I'm trying to watch The Daily Show."
You could be listening to the Pet Shop Boys while watching Grey's Anatomy and it wouldn't be as gay as shopping for a loveseat. Actually, you could be listening to the Pet Shop Boys while watching Grey's Anatomy and anally penetrating another man and it wouldn't be as gay as shopping for a loveseat.
To top it off, my girl's dad is this supercarpenter dude who came in and built all this shelving for our place. He brings in his table saw and a nail gun and something called a pancake compressor and starts building shit. I know how this works...I watch Extreme Home Makeover...So I pull out a megaphone and start yelling at him "Move that Bus!" Then I start crying.
See, I'm Jewish. We don't do carpentry. We gave that stuff up after Jesus. (It didn't work out so well for him, y'know?) While her dad's building all this stuff, the only thing I can think to say, "Is there anything I can sue? My people are good at that."
