Let’s lube up a leather couch, put it under a crate propped up with a stick in his Senate office, and once we catch him, see if the trap is filled with little Ottoman Vances.
Okay I feel like I’d be more sympathetic if I knew what kind of couch it is. If it was something like a hideous faux-suede Ashley’s sectional, straight to the gas chambers, but if I’m supposed to be shaming this man for a little d’homme à Canapé leather lovin’ with an original chrome-spec Le Corbusier, then I won’t take part in your witch hunt.