Barney's Blog - 1x22: Waterbed's Death Bed


There comes a time in every man's life when he must replace his waterbed. For me it came suddenly, last week, when a feisty physical therapist punctured my mattress with her teeth, capsizing the entire evening with a Poseidon-like rogue wave. Untangling under the shower of my bed's final gasps, I removed my blindfold to discover I was weeping. Fortunately, Tina's face was still wedged between the box spring and frame, saving me from further embarrassment. 

I've broken hundreds of beds in my duty as gentleman caller--kings, bunks, trundles…even a Murphy--but through it all, the Pequod held strong through encounter after acrobatic encounter in my apartment. Sponging through the wreckage, it occurred to me that she was my best and most regular sex partner: always willing to try anything once, never complaining about the bunnies I'd bring home, no attempts at pillow talk. Replacing this bed seems impossible, but sadly, necessary: like a surgeon, I'm unable to perform without the proper instruments. 

As I initiate my new bed research, testing everything from mattress firmness and spring decibels to the feasibility/aesthetics of attaching handlebars to a headboard, I find myself reflecting on my late waterbed and ten very special memories I've shared with her. 

My Almost Four-Way: Very technically one was an animal, but numbers rarely lie. 

Professional Surfer Chick: Wow. 

"The Handstand" 

St. Patty's Day Parade '98: One day, six guests. 

St. Patty's Day Parade '00: Five guests. 

Pogo Kate: 'Nuff said. 

Sunday Morning Crosswords: Just kidding. 

Bicycle Bed: Affixing pedals to the ceiling…genius. 

Bolshevik Revolution: Replacing the water with vodka and hooking up a straw. 

The Hairdryer Snafu: Nearly electrocuting myself one evening with a cosmetologist.

I will miss you, Pequod, but you will not be forgotten. Your old headboard hangs from the wall as a memorial of our special times together and, also, as a shelf for handcuffs.

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