Sheets sidewalks that seem made of stone or cardboard boxes. It 's the provocative Snurk, a collection of bed linen designed by a Dutch couple to raise awareness to the plight of the homeless. The name says it all: The homeless and the Trottoir. But it's for a good cause: a percentage of sales is donated to the homeless, build shelters and make sure that especially the younger ones may have a roof over your head.
Oh man oh god oh man oh god!1
ReplyDeletewho wants that in bedroom?no one
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't mind sleeping on that.
ReplyDeletehah silly style
ReplyDeletethat's the most expensive bed ever
ReplyDeletegood post!
ReplyDeleteI want to make money off of that
ReplyDeletethat's pretty interesting
ReplyDeletewhat the!?
ReplyDeleteGreat post!
ReplyDeletecan't wait until your next post!!
ReplyDeleteI showed my friends your post and they enjoyed it! Keep them coming!
ReplyDeleteWish I'd had this idea...
ReplyDeleteWow, pretty good idea for a good cause.
ReplyDeletegreat post
ReplyDeleteif its comfortable, id sleep on it. nice post
ReplyDeleteThat's what we'll all be sleeping on in the afterlife (in Hell) if we dont repent, dude. Dont believe me? Why does our Mother say only a few shall win Seventh-Heaven? Join me, follow us, wiseabove...
ReplyDeleteWhat's your address in Heaven, dear? Dunno? Mine's 111 Rock-Solid-Ave, Milky Weight, Seventh-Heaven. My sub/dude, neon mansion? Mama mia. A grandiose, exquisitely detailed, 3-acre-stuccoish home in a cul-de-sac with mountain-bike-trails we may conform with our thots. Why limit Almighty God? Why not fire-ALL-cylinders in one-fell-swoop? My intimacy with women Upstairs? Subtle, stupendous, fire-engine-zeal: skiing, surfin, sailing, snorklin, smmmokin, savvy, sassy space travel -to- scarlet symmetry! elegant ostentation! potent intoxication! technecolor satire to snuggle and serve: slow, soft, supersonic Sunday School which is an eXcellent, eXcessive eXaggeration of our lives woven together that's push-button, point-blank improv; a plethora of high-degree, Newtonian-laws-of-major league, victory laps where one force of kick-ass, party-hardy, white-water-rawness equals every, single, evening with wild knights, phorNphood, avatars, tender faeries, cereal killers and symbiotic, front-row-seats (subject to unofficial rules). Yes, of course! Baby making is most certaintly an option! ...yet, I gotta wanna see how She feels sharing me. My many planets? Gorgeous girls? Gott'm. Gotta lotta'm. Gotta gobba IQ, too, withe K2 orchestra only accessable to those with adolescent behavior: TOTALLY YOURS!!! How??? Gotta accept Jesus, missy!! Gotta. Wanna. Or you're sooo out-of-order, toots. Therefore, let's accelerate to the Maximum POW!er; let U.S. 'populate' the universe with i2i loyalty to the Bright Son. Wanna join me in God's wild Kingdome?? Chop, chop, dear. Time's running-out for us in this wee, existence finite PS: Time, as an entity, is also mortal: while thar aint no time in Seventh-Heaven, dollface... yet, puh-lenty of time to love due to the superior-supply-of-summer...
...cuzz the only other realm aint too cool: sweltering, cramped and Fugly rotten; Pokemon sawing-off your cranium with a chainsaw; nasty darkness, eternal starvation, Satan lies like a Persian rug; o'er-the-Hillary profusely cakkkling for eternity, no purchase necessary. How purrrecious! sez Gollum. 'Nuff sed. Decide NOW. Make Your Choice -SAW.
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