couch delivery man
A distorted droning noise echoes all around, slowly stabilizing into the screech of a 1987 General Electric AM/FM Digital alarm clock. The nice one, with wood grain and sliding mode switch. Quite a steal at the local goodwill.

"Ah, hmph?" A thin, hairy hand smacks the radio clumsily, missing several times before finally connecting with the snooze button and knocking the clock to the floor.

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Yawning, the man stretches before standing up from his couch. A ragged hospital blanket falls to the floor, revealing the man to be wearing a pair of faded Sonic the Hedgehog boxers and a delivery company polo shirt. He drags his feet through a pile of pizza boxes, soda cans, and Gunpla supplies, making his way over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he retrieves a half-empty bottle of Crystal Pepsi, taking a swig as the door shuts to reveal a stack of Crystal Pepsi cases labeled '1994'.

He reaches over, hitting the play button on his Work and Talk Speakerphone and Answering Machine. It beeps loudly.

"Y O U H A V E,,,,F O U R T Y S E V EN,,, N E W M E S S A G E S," The robotic female speaks out.

"Shit man, did I sleep all day again?" The man asks as the messages begin to play. He listens to a number of them for a second or two, before skipping ahead.

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"Aww~ shit," The man groans. "If my boss catches wind of this I'm up shit creek. Better get on that...what day is it?"

The man turns to check his calendar.

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holy shit
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what the fuck? i thought i killed you
couch delivery man
The man begins to thumb through a pile of half-assembled vintage electronics, pulling out a Motorola StarTAC, somehow working in the foul year of our lord, two thousand and nineteen. He thumbs through the menu. The listing shows 99+ messages, and he skims through most of them, stopping on one.

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He begins to type out on the 9 digit keyboard.

‘I got better,’ The 2 color display reads and he is about to hit send, but hesistates, before he begins typing once more.

‘do you know the address for a mr mono comma? I gotta deliver,’ The man adds before hitting send.

He turns back to look around his apartment. A large studio apartment, one small section near the kitchen forms a square, filled with garbage and anime merchandise. The rest of the apartment floor is packed with numerous brand-new couches of varying style and size. The man begins to climb over the couches, the plastic covers crinkling under foot as he checks the tags on each. One of the couches is also packed with a dakimakura featuring a black-haired, pink-eyed twintail anime girl, her stomach round and distended.

“Who’s this one belong ta, again?....I’ll worry about it later,” He says to himself.
Finally, he arrives at a rounded cushion couch with both solid black and solid white fabric sections, stitched with a bright red saturated thread.

“Mono…cu-ka…KM? Mr Mono. He must be into old TV audio, nice. A fellow appreciator of vintage technology should be understanding of delivery delays.”

The man turns to look around the room.

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“Now how am I gonna get this downstairs…”
Bill Cipher
couch man, why do you have so many anime figurines? please respond. i love you
couch delivery man
A crash of leather, wood, and plastic is heard. The man peeks his head out of the apartment window, seeing the black and white couch sitting on its side, half-sunk into a pile of trash bags sitting on the sidewalk. His head disappears into the window and a minute later the man exits the front door onto the street.

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“Heh, nice job my dude,” He says to himself, adjusting his baseball cap. “Work smarter, not harder.”

He pulls the couch onto its feet, examining it. It appears undamaged, with a bit of some liquid running off of the plastic cover. The man smacks the liquid away, wiping his hand clean on his pants. He turns away from the couch, opening the mailbox.

“Junk, junk,” The man repeats as he tosses multiple envelopes and bills into the trash bag pile, before opening one.

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“Nice dude, moving up in the world. I’m not sure what kinda boxes they put kids in, though. Maybe like pet carriers. Whatever,” He says as he pulls a pen from his pocket, and begins to scribble on the back of the letter.

‘yea dude just like, let me know. Bit behind right now tho dude, wait time looks to be’

He stops to think for a moment, before he continues writing.

’11 months.’

Opening the second letter, he reads it silently.

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He looks somewhat surprised, looking suspiciously around the street. This continues for a few moments, before he smiles and writes on the back of the letter.

‘sorry I cant sell my senator kagura snake girl figures they r very rare. nice try tho.’

He pops his hand into a neighbor’s mailbox, sorting through for a moment before pulling out a sheet of charity provided return address stickers. He peels two off, using them to re-seal the envelopes before he scrawls ‘return to sender’ on the face of the envelopes. He pops them back into his mailbox, raises the flag, and tosses the sticker sheet back into the neighbor’s box.

“Alright, now to move it. Boss won’t let me drive the truck…”
Could you ask your neighbor of you could borrow their car??
The Beef Baron
couch delivery man
There's a distant noise, reverberating and echoing all around.

"Huh?" The lounge-providing-gentlemen utters. The fluttering image of a pink dinosaur swirls around his head.

It speaks, its voice wavering and undulating wildly.

"...borrow their car...."

Just as quickly as it appeared, the dinosaur fades away. The resting-device-providing-lad's eyes widen with realization.

"Of course!" He says. "Let me give someone a call, maybe they can help me out...."

Wasting no time, he disregards the odd ethereal dinosaur and whips out his phone.

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A close look at his new phone shows who he's dialing.

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