The coffee table

Jesús and Maria love each other, endlessly, magnificently, even though they sometimes just don't notice. But hey, now that their little lump of love is born, everything's going to work out. Sure, Maria still has a bit of a North Korean streak in handling the household, calling all the shots when it comes to the color of their apartment walls, the name of the baby, the food they eat, the TV shows they watch, the thickness of the toilet paper and their holiday destination. Jesús, to prove to her and himself that he isn't some spineless trilobite but that he has a will of his own, gets to pick the coffee table. Hallelujah! A hard-won victory that he cherishes by picking out the most aggressively ugly little thing imaginable, the furniture equivalent of Liberace getting lost in Ikea. An unbreakable wonder says the salesman. Overpriced, says Maria. It will bring boundless happiness to their lives, says the salesman. Their worst nightmare, says us? Cayé Case is a black belt in the humor of that very same color, his previous feature KILLING GOD already convinced us of that. Now he's pushing the limits of unbearableness even further and he doesn't need evil ghosts or monsters or possessions to do so, just a little insignificant coffee table. But mark our words, that damn table will drive you through a mental hell, stuck in a limbo between nervous laughter, disgust, and an urge to cleanse your eyes of the images they've just been exposed to. The question is, can you handle that?