I am sitting in your chair.
I crouch there like some leering gargoyle and gesture cordially to... The Other Chair. The less padded chair. The chair with more drinks spilled upon it. It's smelly, it's moldy, it's... it has... oh god, is that a rat snickering at you from the armrest? It is the Bastille of cozy pub armchairs, and you have been, in a word, deposed.
And I, a bearded, long haired barbarian, have declared myself Emperor. Of your chair. Metaphorically.
And then, as if you hadn't suffered indignities enough, I begin talking to you. You realize, with horror, that I mean to occupy this position until you get irritated enough to reclaim your place me by force. I will be here every single night. And I won't stop talking. Oh no! You, lucky sir or madam, are going to hear all my thoughts on history, art, music, literature, comics, and the other fine areas of the Liberal Arts, whether you want to or not! In fact, I have made you my special project. By the time I'm through, you'll have been dragged by the lapel up and down the Ivory Tower of academia, knocking dust off the steps, while I try to shine some light into the corners of academic thought. We'll sit together each evening, I'll sip my wine and babble, and you'll swirl your beer and occasionally mutter, "Oh, bullshit."
So, welcome to Storming The Ivory Tower, the textual siege engine that seeks to bridge the gap between the academic world and the realm of normal human culture. Through superior firepower.
We're just going to be the absolute best of friends!