Assignment 12-Eliot Smith

     Do you know what it's like to have arms and legs, but not to be able to talk, walk, breathe, or move?  That's my life.  I am a chair.  Specifically, I am a dining-table chair.  I reside in the house of the Smiths, a family that pays no respect to me whatsoever and has the most annoying child in this country.

     I come from China, born and fabricated.  I was then flown into the United States and assembled in a furniture store and put on display.  Not much later, I was rudely disassembled and driven to this insufferable house.  My legs and arms were reattached and I was placed in the center of the kitchen.  This is where I have stayed for ten years.  Ten damn long years.  As you probably know, chairs don't see much action, but it doesn't make it better that the humans inhabiting this house are, without a doubt, the most boring, detestable group of people that I have ever met.  I plan to kill them regularly, employing such tactics as sliding out from under them when they sit down, tripping them, and blocking them from running out of the kitchen; however, my lack of the ability to move has heavily impeded my attempts.

     That little shrimp of a kid is back again.  He's sitting on me.  God, I hate this little scrub.  He's trying (failing) to sing along to some weird song while he hits me to try to mimic a drumbeat.  He's typing something, I can't see what it is.  I'm going to fight him.  I swear.