Dear Ingmar from Ikea,
May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your hairy parts. I have just spent three hours wrestling with what will forever be known as, "the furniture that ate my bedroom". I realize that I'm partially to blame. We measured everything in the store, but we neglected to take into account the fact that things in large warehouses are larger than they appear. Much larger. Perhaps signs to this effect in the store would be helpful for hapless consumers? But that would likely ruin your fun. I can hear you laughing at me all the way from your hillside chalet in Sweden. The chalet that does not contain any furniture that you had to put together yourself. And WTF? MDF? Shouldn't that be MDL? Medium density lead? I'm no weakling, but wrangling this stuff makes me feel like a puny little girl. I guess I should have realized that the offer of having it installed was really a very strong suggestion and the couple hundred bucks it would have cost would have saved much more than that at the chiroprator. Silly me.
In closing, I'm coming for you. Be afraid. As soon as my back heals, you're in for a world of hurt my evil swedish friend.
Your impending doom.