Let’s all just be honest here: masturbatorium.
Tiny houses have always appealed to me.
The “smell” & the “small” will get to you after awhile. BTW: That would be the definition of hell to a hyper person.
I’m going to fit that into my next song!
Yet again I am reminded of E.M. Forster’s hauntingly prescient vision of the future in 1909’s The Machine Stops.
For some reason I kind of envisioned setups of this nature as taking the form of holes into which one would be lowered and eventually climb out of, but perhaps that’s just the next stage.
And now we know the origin of the Daleks.
I had a bedroom that was tiny and I put two cheap shelving units facing each so I could put a board across the top for storage. My desk was actually a refitted shelf inside the structure with a curtain hiding me inside when I worked.
I liked it. I had a pet rodent. Food. Books. In the tiny space I had everything I needed. Nobody ever interrupted me. I kind of wish I still had that set up.
Seconded. That contraption would have me kicking holes in the walls to escape within 10 minutes.
“Do you miss the soul-crushing and suffocating atmosphere of working in a basement cubicle when you’re at home? Order now and get this life-sized cardboard replica of your manager!”
Action photos show the limited shelf space taken up entirely by Gundam models and the TV being used for watching the Star Wars prequels. They’re really marketing it toward the otaku crowd.
I was about to write and ask why they would be watching The Phantom Menace in there… Is there some sort of fandom for it?
At least they picked the right brand of bourbon.
How about just the box that comes in? I think I could afford that. I’ve got a chair and some shelves already.
If you like it (and I’m sure a lot of people do) you may find it’s safer to hide your shame by investing in a personal shame box where you can drink neat bourbon and cry and laugh at Jar Jar in private.
Kobo Abe, The Box Man, 1974
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