Let's do it.

Leather furniture, kids. Leather couches. Leather ottomans, chaise lounges, divans. There's nothing like getting off a leather couch in 90 degree heat and feeling the back of your thighs peel slowly off the surface of the SKIN OF A DEAD ANIMAL. Cozy. Comfortable. Awesome. There can be some amazing leather furniture, some shit that looks like it should be in the study of a Southern lawyer who wears linen suits and has a magnificent handlebar mustache and quietly drinks and gets blowjobs from his secretary on his lunch break. He's the kind of guy that wears sock garters. He smokes cigars and has a stentorian voice and bellows a lot. The blowjobs happen on chairs like the one pictured below.

There's something kinda classy about this. You'd find it in the back of an antique shop somewhere and you'd take it home with you and it would be that chair you bought on a whim antiquing upstate that was a pain in the ass to fit in the car but you're so glad you got it because it's great for just reading and maybe gazing out the window at the leaves as your amazing husband brings you a cup of Earl Gray with milk and a dash of honey, just how you like it. Barf.

Then there are the alternatives.



Words almost fail me. The things this couch has seen, the asses it's caressed, the horrible sexual acts it's witnessed. There's defeat in this couch. It wants college students and marijuana smoke and episodes of Entourage ordered OnDemand. It needs a nice quiet place to retire, to continue its slow deflation until someone puts it on the street with a handwritten sign that says "FREE". Wizardry happens behind closed doors here in San Francisco.