What was the name of PeeWee Herman's couch that talked?

I think something is wrong with my living room. It looks like a normal living room. Fairly messy with a nice TV, coffee table and beat-up but perfectly comfortable living room set. However, don't let that normalcy fool you...
My couch was clearly crafted out of material culled from a black hole and/or a hand-me-down from Satan's first apartment on his own. IT'S WAY TOO COMFORTABLE. It has been ruining any chance of my being productive or active, ever. I say this because it's obviously the inanimate piece of furniture that is making me sit on my laptop eating mac & cheese and watching Jerry Springer all day. OBVIOUSLY.

Anyway, there is a tree right outside this suspicious living room's window. It is bare and empty (the better to creep-watch people on the street with my dear) but the tree next to it is full of cute little red berries. This means that my bare, empty, tree has become the waiting room for all the plump little birdies holding a reservation at the exclusive Berry Tree Bistro. This afternoon, I escaped the Black Hole Couch's grasp for a few minutes to try and take pictures of the birds through my window. "Aw, how sweet they are!", I thought. "And hey now, look at me- all photographer like, finding inspiration right outside my window." And then I put the camera away, heated up some more mac & cheese because whoa, shutter-buggin takes it out of you, and I once again gave into the inevitable siren call of my sofa.

Just as I was getting into a really great Maury episode,
(It NEVER gets old when they're all, "I'm 1000% sure he's the daddy, he's the only man I've ever even LOOKED at, what are you callin me a 'ho Maury?", and then he's NOT the father and she has to come back 12 times... now I'm not knocking her bedroom habits- get your freak on girl! let's just leave the overblown statistics out of it so that they don't come back to bite you in the ass in ohhhhh about 12 seconds okay?)
when I hear a huge THUNK. At first I thought someone was throwing a snowball at my window. I slid over a blind with my big toe so I didn't have to actually get up and nope, nobody outside. Whatever, maybe I imagined it. An little while later. THUNK again. Some amateur (and by amateur I mean I was too lazy to get up and actually do much in particular) investigation later I realized, those punk birds were throwing their chubby but cute bodies against my window! I have NO idea why, it wasn't like I was waving sunflower seeds and peanut butter at them from the window and um, wouldn't that HURT?

But then I turned away from the window... and I felt guilty. I saw that it was my fault some bird was flying/limping (flimping?) away with a cracked beak. When I opened the window they must have seen it. The couch. They were probably innocently getting sucked into the force field of comfort that is so hard to deny. Poor things, they didn't know! Their tiny bird brains couldn't resist the power of the cracked beige pleather! I'm sorry guys, I'll make sure I sacrifice myself tomorrow by stretching out on the sofa all day in order to block all its cushy evil wiles from you. It's the least I can do really.