My couch, a giant black leather recliner-y affair, was purchased from my friend S. when he moved in with my friend F, who flatly stated her couch was much newer and he had to lose the couch. He still mourns it.

But hey, it was a $2500 Italian leather couch I got for $300, and three big burly guys to move it free!

The downside? Friends that look at my couch and wistfully tell me "My fiancee gave me my first BJ from her on that couch!" and "I used to sit naked on that couch all the time."

Mind you, he was also religious about babying the couch with saddle soap. Freak. HE about had a cow when he saw the stratches from Gimlet's back claws on the top.

The couch is a sex magnet, though. Since I've gotten it, I've has several makeout sessions on it, and drunk girlfriends of mine have had makeout sessions on it (when I have been blissfully asleep in my bedroom.)

Erin has a Couch of Sin. Rock.

It's like a black leather island of lust.

Most people have couches of sin, but usually the sin is sloth.

You've met my couch?

Since I watch DVD's and TV on my PC, my couch has become sadly neglected, slothwise.

I have an assrut worn into my computer chair, though.

You've met my couch?

Yes, or one of its one million siblings.

On Enterprise someone just said they need more power to the thrusters.

And it wasn't in a scottish accent.

That's just wrong.

I found the Cross pen that my dad gave me. He found it somewhere. When he gave it to me, he said, "You'll never lose this. It's too expensive." Neither of us remarked upon the irony.

If it were stolen, it'd be a Hot Cross Pen.

more power to the thrusters.

Someone on my couch needs to shriek this, sometimes.

Preferably in a Scottish accent.