- •You came to IKEA to buy a pillow. You leave with six storage units and a bag of meatballs. You do not know how to cook the meatballs. When you get home you eat them frozen. At night you sleep without a pillow. It reminds you of your lack of purpose in life.
- •You can smell cinnamon rolls from the parking lot. You know they will find you. There is no escape. All that is left is the sweet eternal scent of death.
- •You enter IKEA. You follow the arrows. You cannot stop following the arrows. They remind you of the inevitability of death.
- •Ÿøu dö thë bešt yöu čan to rëåd the lābėls büt ÿøu cænnöt. Yøu bêgïn tö håłłücinæt. Yöū pašs oüt. Ÿou wakė up øn ä šöfa cællëd Mëætbåll.
- •You pull a box aside and a child springs out. The child looks like a demon. You cannot run.
- •You enter the warehouse. The high ceiling reminds you of the void that is human existence. You sit down suddenly. You cannot pronounce the name of the chair on which you have sat.
- •You enter the warehouse to get a bedside table. It is too high to reach. You feel small. You realize your life amounts to nothing in the eyes of the void.
- •You try to pull a mattress down from a warehouse shelf. It falls on you and digs mercilessly into your flesh. The other customers cannot hear your muffled screams.
- •Minimalism has become the new minimalism. IKEA is selling invisible furniture. You do not know how to sit in an invisible chair. Despair grips your heart.