As you follow the Airhead to the back of the house, you hear the other two giggling as they search for an electrical outlet. You pray for a power surge as you weave your way through six Marshall amps, mike stands, a drum-set, several discarded pizza delivery boxes and the Airheads massive collection of T.V. Guides.
"Here it is!!" shouts the Airhead, pulling a ratty quilt off a smallish lump in the middle of the floor. That's a baby's high chair, you sigh. Then you think about it a minute and ask, You guys have a kid?

"Naw, but the way the chicks throw themselves at us, one of us might end up getting one someday. You sure this isn't your chair?"

Does that look like a lawn chair? Listen, you borrowed three lawn chairs. THREE! They don't run on batteries or electricity and they're big enough for an adult to sit in. You know, a comfy kind of chair.

The Airhead eyes you warily. "You all right, man? You seem a little intense."

You'd be intense too, if you were having the day I'm having. I really am in a rush, so...the chairs? Please???

A comfy chair, right? Big enough for an adult.

Right...AND it doesn't plug in.

I know the one you mean. Geez, those guys I live with are such boneheads. The living room....it's in there.