The 24 Hour Bean Bag Challenge
Recently, the good people at Sumo Lounge sent me a massive, epic monster of a bean bag chair in the mail, because I edit a website and have the power to make and break companies like breadsticks. That’s not even remotely true, but the idea of eschewing the oppressive furnishings of my forefathers and setting up shop in an amorphous, comfy sack was to much for me to turn my back on. Chairs are the modern day equivalent of the Pox and I refuse to sit in one any longer. You know who uses chairs? Pimps, junkies, communists, people about to be electrocuted to death, carnies, Justin Bieber, the elderly and insane, accountants, leprous whores and Barack Obama. Think about it. No seriously, take a minute.
And we’re back. Now that I am unfettered by our four-legged demon overlords, I figured I’d set out to do what Buddha and all his ilk had planned back when they were setting up all those major world religions – I was going to attempt to live out the remainder of my days in a bean bag chair. If you’re a theology student and take issue with that, I invite you to ask your professor to explain to you what manner of sitting device he or she employs at home and in the office. Afterwards you can use your saucy mouth to apologize to me.
Arguably anyone could “sorta” live their life in a bean bag chair, but what am I, a Democrat? I don’t sorta do things. I do things. I needed to spend a solid 24 hours in this bean bag chair to make sure it was a sustainable force of life-giving comfort. And sure, people have probably broken world records by spending days on end in a bean bag chair, but I work on the internet, not in a mental hospital where my job is crazy person, so there was no need to push this to extremes.
The rules I laid out were simple – spend 24 hours in a bean bag chair. And it wouldn’t be like one of those sissy competitions where competitors get a 5 minute break every 6 hours to pee or whatever so as to remove liability in case of a popped bladder. Oh no, this was a full on, legit,24 hour experience. Every act had to be accomplished in the chair, no getting up allowed, only a series of rolls and thrusts needed for repositioning or general mirth. It’s on!
Working: I work every day because I am committed to perfection and ensuring you guys get your Sunday comics every week without delay, lest you weep inconsolably while you fap to regular Marmaduke, which is not how I want any of us to live. The transition from working in a normal chair to a bean bag chair was a little more intense than I expected. Yes, I have a laptop but no, I have no method of supporting this when the chair I am sitting in makes my lap as supportive as Jello and the back support consists of nothing at all. Sitting in a bean bag chair is a lot like being sucked ass first into a tiny Sarlaac pit. You can manage things, it just takes some doings.
Downside: The unfortunate seating created by the beanbag initially lead to some overheating in the groinal area. However, taking the lead from my spastic dog, a series of twitches and thrusts lead to the laptop supported on a portion of the beanbag my girth had forced to crest above me, creating an impromptu table. This was working out just fine.
Eating: Eating in a beanbag chair is like snacking in paradise. You can strike the laziest of poses and the tender and supportive nuggets of faux bean will mold themselves to your nooks ad crannies with ease to allow you a fully immersive eating experience. If you work it right you can even get food to simply roll from some storage device right into your mouth. You don’t even need to use your hands! Finally, I can eat like Stephen Hawking and feel twice as smart.
Stain potential is ever present so it’s best to avoid gravies, sauces and Sloppy Joes. However if you bring a variety of fruits, nuts and sandwiches with you for your outing you’ll be made in the shade.
Downside: Ever since my dog took to eating wieners out of Fleshlights, she’s been all up in my shit. Total beanbag chair casualties = 1 half of a sandwich and a bag of Doritos. She didn’t eat the Doritos but she dragged them across the room out of reach of the chair and just sat on them, mocking my futile demands that they be returned.
Waste Removal: I spend too much time writing about bodily functions. But that aside, this was obviously going to be the biggest hurdle to face in the bean bag. How exactly do you relieve yourself from atop of a brown sack? It’s no easy task unless you plan ahead. Which I did.
Me Time: Some days you need to get wasted and, if you’re living in the past, you’re on chair doing it. Why bother? The reason drunkenness is generally frowned upon by educators and other drivers is because of the lack of comfort. If we were all wasted on bean bag chairs there’d be a lot more happy drunks in the world, and probably more awesome poetry and stories about boobs and stuff.
The beanbag chair is like a NASA designed piece of space aged sitting-on-your-ass-and-slacking-off technology. If lazy ass aliens ever show up and want to share technology with us that helps improve our ability to have microwave burritos and play Xbox, they’re going to show up in beanbag ships and visit my house first after this article gets beamed into space. Fun side note, Holy Taco broadcasts their articles into space. We have an intern read everything over a ham radio.
Downside: Nothing. This chair is better than monkeys.
Sleep: Getting comfortable enough to sleep in a bean bag chair is like getting crabs on the bus. That’s happened to you too, right? Anyway, if anything, you need to struggle to not sleep on the bean bag.
Downside: The quality of work done in the bean bag may suffer as a result of sleepiness. Yesterday I wrote a whole article about Post-it Notes. It was 2,300 words.
Sex: Oh man, sex in the beanbag chair, gonna be hot! However, my roommate denied my advances, calling me “super gay” for even suggesting it. Super, sure. But super gay? Barely even regular gay. Well, exactly regular gay, I guess. Technically.
Downside: Some people are not open minded enough to partake in this adventure with you. Until the girl down the hall comes by to borrow some eggs to make a cake which she wont realize is a euphemism for beanbag humping, this one’s going nowhere.
Conclusion: I managed to pull off a full 24 hours without my feet ever touching the ground once and frankly, ever minute of it was more awesome than every other minute. If it were socially acceptable to beach yourself, or if it were possible to mount a chassis and a small motor on the beanbag so I could get to the zoo and laser tag, I’d spend forever here.
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