Our hero strides away from the retail park, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, excitement prickling through his veins. A small, involuntary drip of pee seeps down the inside of his left thigh—an unspoken testament to his anticipation. He’s just secured his prize: a gleaming 50-inch Samsung widescreen, a portal to endless pleasure and distraction.

That cool, slightly damp feeling against his skin only fuels the eagerness. He can barely wait to wrestle this beast inside, to peel back its black-tinted glass doors and unleash a flood of colour and sound. There, waiting like a treasure trove behind those sleek panels, lies a marathon of action-packed shows, Netflix’s glossy revivals of wars long past, and a world of Xbox adventures begging to be conquered.

Clutching his fragile, slightly bent joystick—his trusty sword in these digital crusades—he’s ready to journey through mythical lands and storm enemy fortresses, all from the sanctity of his living room.

But first: the cardboard box. A looming mountain of packaging, bulky and conspicuous. Where to stash it without inviting the gaze of neighbours or the prying eyes of postmen? Then, a flicker of inspiration sparks in his reptilian brain. Slithering through shadows, he slips to the nearby public park under the cloak of night, abandoning the box like a guilty secret in the moonlight.

Back home, pride swelling in his chest, our self-made hero lets out a satisfied sigh. The screen flickers alive—radiating artificial light, exploding in bursts of radiant green, red, and pulsating blue. The room comes alive with electric energy.

And there he is—the wanker, king of his castle, ruler of pixels and cardboard kingdoms alike.