When I got the word from Malcolm that I had been accepted as one of The Last Gaffe’s new writers, I was pretty amped about the whole thing. That feeling lasted for a solid fifteen minutes, before it turned into an intense sense of dread at my complete dearth of ideas for what to write. I hadn’t really been doing a lot of writing the past few weeks, and while many writers would come out of such a stretch with a back-up of great ideas just waiting to pour out of them, I came out with fresh memories of how much more fun Resident Evil 5 is than writing.

It's not racist because the girl's black, you guys!

And so I found myself staring blankly at a word document that was, well, blank, trying my damnedest to come up with something that would be both funny and a good introduction to the Last Gaffe audience. Something that truly captured who I am. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to come up with something good because I was also in the process of moving to a new house. And then, in the process of moving, genius struck.

In the form of idiocy.

Any schlep can move a bed from one house to another. It’s a terribly straightforward and simple task. Take the bed apart, put it in a vehicle, drive to a different place, put the bed together. That’s boring. What takes talent is finding a way to turn this simple construction project into an Odyssey of Homerian-proportions (and yes, I am talking about the Simpson variety.)

As luck would have it, I am world class in the field of Simple Task Fuck-Upery, and by following my simple guide, you too can find bed moving to be a baby-punchingly frustrating endeavor.

(NOTE: in keeping with the theme of ineptitude, I failed to take any pictures of my efforts. My six-year-old neighbor was kind of enough to illustrate some helpful diagrams with my guidance.)

Step 1: Disassembling Your Bed

This is the trickiest part of the entire operation. As you’ve already noticed, your bed’s entire construction consists of only eight of those new-fangled half-screw, half-bolt things.

Sixteen if, like me, your bed consists of two identical beds pushed together. You take those out and, just like that, you’ve got a disassembled bed.

It could be argued that this step is one that is damn-near idiot proof. So, how can we fix that? By misunderstanding what day your house is getting set up with all those fancy things like TV and internet that make a house habitable. By neglecting to figure these pieces of information out, you can buy yourselves two nights sleeping on a couch that’s two feet shorter than you are, while your beds sit in the back of a truck waiting to be moved.

Step 2: Moving the Bed

Now that your bed is safely packed to the very top of the covered truck bed without a meaningful reason to move it to your new crib, you’re ready to proceed to Step 2, and get your move on. For starters, you’re going to get a call to go hang out with your sister while her husband is at work. Since “work” for her husband entails training to beat up men far bigger than you, and you’re a strikingly attractive man that’s fond of his current facial arrangement, you’re going to want to oblige.

About halfway through the drive, you’re going to hear a thump from the back of the truck. A check in your rearview mirror will confirm that there is still a headboard and footboard resting atop the two sets of mattresses, and that everything is cool. Important: do not stop to think about that logic. It’s vitally important that you get all the way to your sister’s house before you realize that two sets of mattresses should have two headboards and two footboards.

Once you’re at your sister’s house, you’re now free to realize that you failed to lock the window on the bed cover, and that you are now short two fairly-important parts of your bed. Quickly hurry to retrace your steps, being sure to get a false sense of security when you find the first piece a mere quarter-mile from her house and in perfect condition. This will make it all the more painful of a kick in the man marbles when you come across the second piece, and learn that somebody was kind enough to run it over with their car, leading to some boards seeking their sovereignty.

Optional Aesthetic Step: Carefully study the footboard before hammering it back together to ensure that you reattach the pieces in the correct order to ensure no visible nails. Then go to sleep, do the hammering in the morning and accidentally reverse the steps.

Step 3: Reassembling the Bed

Here we are – the home stretch. With just a few more masterful touches, you’ll have finished off a truly terrible attempt at moving a bed. Assemble the first bed without any complications, and develop a smug feeling of adequacy as a result. Repeat the process on the second bed until you’re putting in the seventh screwbolt. That’s when you want to notice the footboard on the second bed is upside down compared to the first footboard.

Take apart the second bed, taking care to unscrew the boards on both sides of the bed, not just the side that needs to be turned around. Trust me, this makes loads of sense. Flip the footboard and put the bed back together. Congratulations, you have put your beds together. Slide the drawers under the bed and call it a day.

What’s that? Something doesn’t look right?

You know what? Fuck you. I think that’s a perfectly fine bed. What, like, you’re so fucking perfect? Newsflash buddy, you’re not exactly a 10 yourself (Unless you’re reading this and also a lady, in which case I didn’t mean it. You’re beautiful, and you should message me.)

Fine, we’re not done yet. This is about the time in the operation where you realize that it was the second bed you’d put together right, not the first, and that you’re an idiot. Take both beds apart, flip both endboards and screw it all back together and you’re finally done.

Congratulations, you can now enjoy your bed with the ladies, if you know what I mean.

Fuck you, kid.