Fuck You, Flat Pack.

Now that we’ve moved out of the rat hole, I had to buy a few small pieces of furniture to spruce up the new place. One of them was a little storage cabinet for each of the Womb Raiders bedrooms. Take a look….


Cute hey? Well these on-trend little purchases have been a fucking nightmare from start to finish. Along with the IKEA desk and the cube storage and the drawers for my  home office. Between these 5 devilish pieces of flat pack I’ve driven myself completely insane and embarrassed myself in the process.

Here are a few reasons why I think Flat Pack can go fuck itself.

Getting your flatpack is a pain in the arse.

If you have to drive to IKEA to get yourself some flat pack, you will have no doubt spent your savings in fuel since they are always miles away from civilisation. You’ll then have to walk 30 kms through the store, because they design it in such a way that it’s impossible to escape. Next time I am taking a fucking sleeping bag and some dinner because that shit just aint right.

You will be forced to eat horse balls.

You’ll have worked up an appetite and therefore have to stop for some horse balls. I mean, Swedish meatballs with lingonberry jam and mash. And you’ll taste these horse balls repeating on you for the next week. It’s not really food, yet you can’t stop yourself, and you’ll happily line up for close to an hour to get some of these equine delights slapped onto your plate by a surly kitchen-hand. You might even grab a few bags on the way out because you’ve been hypnotised into thinking they are yummy.

The Instructions written in Engrish. Or Swahili. Or Sanskrit.

These frigging stupid instructions that are as basic as you will become after attempting to follow them, will kill you. You are dead.  Just check out this ridiculous diagram.


You’re fucked before you’ve already started if you don’t have a rug. Or a neck. But don’t worry, just open the box and call IKEA because, what? They will put the bloody thing together for you? I don’t think so. Just grab your allen key and stab yourself in the face right now while you think of the savings.

The arguments and consequent counselling.

If your husband/wife/partner/kids/neighbour/dog tries to help you, here is a small bit of advice. DO NOT LET THEM HELP.  It might seem logical, but it’s not. You’ll argue over what way up it is, if you used the wrong length screws, and, possibly, if you even like the thing you are trying to put together at all.

No doubt you’ll have put it together the wrong way even though you followed the diagram, and there will be 75 different arrangements after the first before you’ve got something that possibly looks like this.


But think of the savings! All that money you saved on flat pack? Just hand it straight to the marriage counsellor in big fat wads, because you are a loser.

The packaging will haunt you for at least 4 weeks.

Styrofoam, plastic wrap, plastic baggies, cardboard edges and then cardboard boxes for days. You’ll meet the new neighbours at 6.30am while you are trying to do a  ninja-stuff in their recycling bin to get rid of your crap. You won’t be wearing a bra and they will wonder where to look. When you still can’t get rid of it all, it will sit outside in the rain until you can squeeze the rotten, snail-eaten remains in your street bins for the next month. Fuck You.

You realise you assembled it in the wrong part of the house.

Think about it. That nice rug providing a safe surface for the construction of your newest bit of furniture might be in the wrong part of the house. Meaning you’ve got to lug the fucker up the stairs, or possibly take it apart again to get it into the right room. By this stage you’ll wish you’d hacked it to bits before taking the axe on yourself. But it was so cheap you should have bought two, and you take that one like a pro. And NEVER tell anyone you are that stupid.

The self mutilation.

If you do not have decent tools or are not good at arm wrestling, you are going to have issues. Or at the very least have blisters on your hands for the next week or so. But think of the savings you can spend on band-aids.


The aftermath.

Things are going to be tense. You’ll have argued a lot, yelled, screamed and probably cried because you are a broken fucking shell of a person. But think of the savings! You’ll get to save all over again when this piece of shit cheap crap from China eventually breaks in 3 weeks time or you move house and you have to buy a new one. Yeah, chipboard doesn’t travel too well honey.

Fuck You flat pack. Fuck the hours and sometimes days you take to put together and the soul destroying torment that comes with each little piece of you. Fuck your allen keys and locknuts and extra screws and the screws I now have loose. You can suck a giant bag of dicks.


Liked it? Then like my Far Kew page on Facebook or I’ll force feed you some Swedish horse balls.


  1. True! All true! We built a friggin kitchen out of those flat packs! Just getting that shit out of the place, into the trailer and out of the underground car park was a mission I will never forget, not to mention the fights putting it together!

  2. In Hong Kong you can add 10% to your bill and have the folk who deliver it assemble it. They’re so well bearded in flat pack it’s usually done in 10 minutes! So I guess that’s small compensation for packing the stuff in a flat that’s the size of most AUSSIE lounge rooms but costs the same as a Sydney beachside mansion.

Leave a Reply to Sarah Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.