Is there anything on this planet that is more soul destroying than flat pack furniture?? You bust your hump all week, and look forward to your day off, peace and quiet, and a little me time. But what's this? A hall full of odd shaped cardboard boxes, propped menacingly against the wall. A clearing made in the front room, and instead of the telly being tuned into the footie, it is off, yanked by the plug. Are those tools I see on the table. A Stanley knife, assorted screw drivers and a hammer. I break for the door, but it is locked, the keys hidden from view. Pin pricks of sweat form at my brow, as I slowly turn to be confronted by the Elster, her face contorted in a gruesome smile, and I now know my day of rest and relaxation is not to be.....
Who writes the instruction manuals for these things? What the Fuck is a half crest locking screw? Are you sure that goes there? Why are all these screws left over? It doesn't look much kike the picture on the box? If that's not bad enough, you get all the panels and pieces put together, all ready for the doors. But what's this? You have only gone and put one of the panels in upside down! Arrrrgghhhhhh!!!! Back to square one, again.
It is for this reason that I am consigning IKEA to my "Tesco" list of establishments of evil. There may be other shops and stores selling the stuff (I think the Elster got hers at Argos), but I consider this company to be the flag bearers of the cursed flat pack. How many weekends have been ruined, or marriages destroyed? Millions I Bet. So I leave you, and return to my house of cabinets that have doors that won't close, and wardrobes that lean further than the tower of Pisa itself. Of cupboards full of unused screws, and garages stuffed with used packaging. I curse you all, manufacturers of these Toys of Satan.
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