sat hunched over your computer screen, ignoring the ringing of your phone as it receives it's only call of the week: "hello son, listen I'm worried. we haven't heard anything from you in weeks, call me soon I'm worried. love always, your mother" is the voicemail message left.
sat hunched over your computer screen, repeatedly pressing the long worn out f5 button on the hull city afc newsnow page. 'why isn't there anything about nigel pearson getting sacked yet?!'. a similar newsnow tab is open in your browser, only this time it's phil brown articles that are being searched. a poster hangs on your wall, the only one. the bright orange colour and the microphone are give-aways as to the identity of this person.
you look over at the empty box of kleenex, you look down at the numerous cornflake bowls and scrunched up tissue papers. you are living the high life.
'its been at least an hour, I bet I can sneak in some more trolling on not606 before the obligatory sunday masturbation over myself'
what to use to catch your seed this time? what implement is to hand to catch the millions of spermatozoa? what could you hold to catch the pitiful ejaculation? anything will do, it's not as if you'll be doing much today.