My New Invention

I had an idea in the shower the other day. I'm not certain why most of my ideas occur to me in the shower but being wet and naked seem to be conducive to my cognitive faculty's. My back was sore from being hunched over the keyboard of my computer for hours on end and the hot water was soothing my stiff shoulders and neck when I thought that I had better come up with a way to sit at the computer that wasn't so hard on my poor posture. Sitting upright or laying down didn't seem to be working.

What I really needed was a kind of recliner that would hold my keyboard at just the right angle so I could type in comfort. But what if I could add every convenience possible to my new writers chair? What if I could create the Cadillac of writing furniture? What else would it need?

For starters, it would need a cup holder and an ash tray, surround sound and a waste basket. The seat must be of the finest Moroccan leather with heated massage settings of varying strengths. The chair would adjust it's support where I needed it most, and go soft and slack where I needed it. It would also have a fan feature that would caress my body from every angle, even underneath, to prevent bed sores. The air could be scented with the smell of my choosing, such as fresh cut grass, lilacs, bar room, or the sweet musky scent of sweaty sex. It would need a tap that would dispense the liquid beverage of my choice that would be dictated by my whim alone. At my elbow, day or night, it could provide an array of beers, coffees, teas, colas, as well as a finely crafted vodka martini replete with three olives. With these amenities, I could construct some fantastic works of literature.

But I am odd in the fact that I can't write with noise in room. I need it quiet, so that my too small brain can hear the echoes within it. This means that I would need a sound-proof booth to put the chair in, and why not make it globe shaped? The interior could be lined with screens to give the effect of an Imax theater for one, and it would have films of a busy street corner, the rain forest, a concert of my favorite band, a stormy night, the snowy view from the top of Mt. Everest, London during the blitz, to a Grand Canyon raft ride, all with appropriate sound tracks and vibrations. There would also be a mouse pad that I could comfortably run with my feet for those times when I find my hands full of drinks and sandwiches, or anything else for that matter.

And to maximize my writing chair time, it should be equipped with a way to eliminate my bodily wastes and a dentist's spit sink, so that the burden of having a mortal body could be lessened and my energies could be put to a greater and more focused goal.

It would also have a lock on the door and no clock.

When it comes to constructing this modern marvel that Dickens would have given his left nut for, I am not the one to build it. I am "good with my hands" in the sense that I can screw and unscrew a light bulb, can drive a straight nail, and know which end of a firearm to hold. Beyond that, you had better hire a trained professional and not rely on my duct tape mastery. So should any of my readers have some kind of engineering degree or are just plain ol' handy, drop me a line.

We could make millions!

Doc