Flying by the seat of my pants and enjoying the simpler things. Basically, anything that makes me smile like Dale Cooper when he's drinking a damn fine cup of coffee.
Babies and bulldogs. That’s all.
Oh, there is nothing when you’re feeling down like a baby sleeping in a pile of puppies.
I have a theory that nobody actually works in Ikea. Their ‘employees’ are people that have gotten lost inside, and over the years they simply assimilate into the store. They find themselves wearing clothes that match the logo, they forget the need to eat or sleep. They are Ikea. Ikea is them.
We are all Ikea.
They’re like the Borg, except instead of Seven of Nine, you get merchandise that you destroy out of frustration six hours after an assembling attempt.