This morning I was howling in desperation that I couldn’t afford to buy furry beanbag chairs for my guest room when I realized that furniture is for chumps. I could be living inside of a giant spider’s web made from packing tape practically for free, lounging sans sofa, sucking the life blood from passersby and occasionally weaving life-affirming messages for small farm animals before faking my own death to tear-soaked applause. Plus, if God didn’t want me to live in a giant web, why do I shit silk and have eight eyes? Think about it.