Nothing screams bachelor more than places where you can sit and also sleep, but are uncomfortable to do either.

Ah yes, the inevitable futon. It's has been a mainstay in bachelor pads for years. It dates back to the cavemen who also had horrible taste in furniture and an $87 furniture budget (or four shiny rocks and three roundy rocks, in 40,000 BC rates). So there's no question as to why bachelors feel this urge to purchase used futons from Craigslist — it's a primal urge, daggone-it! Here's the problem: No one actually likes these things. No one. Not the owner. Not the visitor. Not the company that made it. Not the trucker who delivered it. Not the spiders that live in it.

What's worse is that futons always break. Always. They always do. As a matter of fact, and this isn't even a joke, I broke the futon in my girlfriend's brother's room just a few days back. Seriously. Its like these things have expiration dates. And what's worse, do you know that the owner will NEVER throw the futon away? No matter how many razor sharp, flesh mutilating pieces the futons breaks into, the futon will retain it's place in the living room or bedroom of a bachelor like some sort of medieval torture device. There are only two ways to get rid of a bachelor's futon:

1. If he moves, you might be able to convince him to throw it away along with that Target bookcase that fell apart as soon as you thought about picking it up OR
2. You are an excellent nagging girlfriend (or boyfriend? I don't 'scriminate) and you vow to withhold the good stuff until he trashes this junk heap.

Beanbags (or beanbag chairs as it is referred to at the store, even though it will never be a chair again) are much less impossible, but come with one added issue. Beanbag chairs are 1% less comfortable everyday they exist. So by the time you buy a beanbag chair, it's already only about 67% comfortable.

"Ok, nothing wrong with that. I'll only use it to play video games, and maybe to get some work done on my laptop on Sundays."

Yep. Nope. You will continue to try to strategically sit in it at weird angles while you convince yourself and your dumb friends that it's "the best seat in the house". But it's not. It's the worst seat in the house. It would also be the worst seat in the following places:

• a bus stop
• a prison
• a prison bus stop
• a place where anyone not sitting in a beanbag chair is brutally murdered

So after about 30 days, when the beanbag (chair, ugh) is at 37% comfortabality (lets hear it, matheletes!), something excellent will happen. Wanna guess what? No, wait — don't… don't do that. Don't guess. This is an article. I can't hear you. I'll bet you still tell Dora which path to take too, don't you? Anyway: the little white "beans" will start to spill out. Everywhere. And you'll NEVER be able to figure out where the hole is. Because beanbags are designed to betray you. The evil beanbag scientists aren't just content with just reaping the profit from low-cost, nonsensicle almost-furniture… they also want you to regret it always. Not one fun minute to be had by any.

Oh, and guess what futons and beanbags mean? They mean friends… or, I guess a better description of these people would be "people who don't ever want to leave". There is a unique feel of a bachelor's home that I like to refer to as "good enough-ish." If a bachelor has friends that live with their parents, or live on campus, or are possible homeless bums, and you have a futon or beanbag… well they kinda "won't leave". Like seriously. They will come over to play Call of Halo Theft Auto VI: The Rekindling, or watch the Fasterous and Furiorer: Zambia Drift deleted scenes, and they will stick around after the movie is over, then they'll stick around after that really good episode of SVU where Liv stabs that baby, then they'll stick around after the bachelor's roommates go to sleep, and they just kinda go to sleep and hope you didn't care they they are about to sleep at your house indefinitely like Sinbad in House Guest. That's how House Guest went, right? Anyone?