Dinner parties at the Millers' place are just too much, man. I can't tell if it's the walls that are melting or my brain.
I'll just sleep on the floor on a pile of my clothes until I can find the closet and the bed.
The silhouettes of old dead people aren't creepy enough, can you make them look like they're coming after me?
I anticipate a life filled with post-toe-stubbing expletives and drunken nights spent on the floor after giving up trying to find the bed.
And this room is where we don our dramatic robes and chant the Imperial March.
You can travel the world from the privacy of your own personal throne.
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