This morning at about 9:45, I was in the guest room / computer room / music room / my room, while Gary was sleeping in our bedroom. Suddenly there was a massive thud that shook the house, and Gary cried out.
Gary bellowed in pain and moaned until I came in. He was lying on the floor next to the bed. He was writhing, so I was immediately relieved.
He moaned. Then he gestured toward the bed and shouted accusingly, "IT'S THIS STUPID BED!" Then he moaned some more.
"What happened?" I asked, comfortingly.
He was livid. "I was rolled up in the STUPID comforter, and I was trying to get it out from under me, so I pulled up on it from the middle of the bed and it rolled me out!"
"So you rolled yourself out of bed?"
"THIS DAMN THING!" he roared, and threw the comforter across the room in a rage. He moaned and writhed some more.
I thought about saying, "You poor baby, you fell out of bed," with a slight emphasis on the "you fell," but given his mood it seemed better to agree with him that while he slept, our bed had violently thrown him out and the comforter conspired in the plot. It is a matching bedroom accessory to murder.