Dear Couch,

I'm going to miss you, couch.  You have been through a lot with me these past three years.  Your life began at some lame old lady's house, where you sat in clean white boredom for the first decade of your life.  Then you moved to my parent's basement, where I mainly used you for diving ping pong shots.  And finally, you came to live at school with me.  There's food on you.  There's beer on you.  You have hosted both scholarly ventures and mild debaucheries.  There's ink on you.  You smell like the couch in Pineapple Express.  Remember when we watched that together?

Now, I know I haven't treated you right.  The undersides of your cushions are soiled with vomit (and probably some other, crustier stains).  I did the best a wet paper towel can do.  But through the afternoon naps and late night movies, you know how I felt about you.

As you know, I am moving to a new apartment next month, and there's a girl involved.  I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you will not be making the move with me.  There is a new couch.  One that hasn't let themselves go as much.  Plus it has recliners.

I'll miss you couch, and even though we have to part ways, I think we had some of the greatest years of our pathetic lives.

Love, Brian

P.S. Enjoy the dump. Don't let anyone sit on you as a joke, you're better than that.