The end of the old brown couch

Anyone that has read "He died with a felafel in his hand" will know the importance of the brown couch. It seems that some people don't treat their brown couches with the reverance that they are due. Our six monthly rubbish collection is underway at the moment, and the couches are popping up like mushrooms. Is this a sign that the residents are casting off their youthful, drug fueled indiscretions and finally growing up?

Or, judging by the number of prams, strollers and pregnant women in the neighbourhood, they might have decided to blow the baby bonus on some new furniture.

OK, this is not a brown couch, but I can see it being collected by some students or junkies and turned into the equivalent of the famous brown couch.

Hell, given the way that dirty, filthy hippies live, they'll have stained it brown in no time flat. I think you'll find that very few brown couches are sold in Australia - the ones that you see started life as a different colour, but have changed colour as hippy external surfaces have rubbed off on them.

If I owned these couches, I wouldn't want the neighbours to know that I had such bad taste. I would have dumped them at least a block away in front of someone elses house. And then set them on fire.



A classic example of the brown couch. In leather too.



So this one is not exactly brown either. However, it fits the ideal of a brown couch. It is ugly, and possibly comfortable. My camera went all misty-eyed just thinking about all the things this couch must have seen in its long and prosperous life.



Yes, another non-brown couch. At least it is brown. I got home and showed this photo to J, and was immediately ordered out of the house in order to go collect it. The scavengers got there first. Our loss, their gain. I think.