The Gårbjörg: A Symphony of Screws and Screams

Barty Butterfield, a man whose DIY skills extended to unscrewing a jar lid, decided it was time. Time for "The Gårbjörg," a Swedish flat-pack wardrobe promising "Nordic Simplicity" and delivering "Existential Dread." He laid out the pieces, a veritable forest of particle board and vague intent, along with a pictogram instruction manual that seemed to have been translated by a particularly nihilistic squirrel.

The first panel, meant to be a side, inexplicably tried to become a coffee table. Barty wrestled it into submission, only for a bag of "fasteners" to spontaneously combust into a metallic shrapnel shower across the room. His cat, Mittens, mistook the larger screws for new, exciting prey, batting them under the sofa with Olympic precision.

An hour in, Barty was less an assembler and more a bewildered circus performer, balancing a half-erected frame on his head while attempting to locate a "Type C Dowel" (which, he suspected, was just a fancy term for 'cosmic dust'). The Gårbjörg, now listing precariously, seemed to possess a sentient will to defy gravity and Barty's sanity. It wobbled, groaned, and at one point, actively tried to ensnare him in its cardboard packaging.

Just as he triumphantly secured a shelf (or what he hoped was a shelf), the entire structure performed a slow-motion, majestic collapse, showering him in wood dust, discarded Allen wrenches, and a single, accusatory "Type B Cam Lock" that had clearly orchestrated the whole debacle. Barty emerged from the wreckage, looking like a man who'd lost a fight with a lumberyard, only to find Mittens proudly presenting him with a chewed-up instruction manual. Nordic Simplicity, indeed.