I swear, if I ever become a ridiculously rich bitch one day, I will own a dining room full of Giger furniture.
I hope to hell that these chairs swivel, because nothing would be more satisfying than inviting a stranger over and greeting them by turning around in one of these bad boys. The look would be completed by having some sort of mutant exotic cat-rabbit on my lap, and I would grasp an extravagant clawed challice filled with human tears, or something.
