You cursorily perform an image search of Dorah, needing to at least behold the basics of the visual appearance of the dreaded packsack needed to pull off this most ingenious chimeric creation of cussable crap. As her image enters your vision, your consciousness begins a savage retreat for the back door exit of your skull. Your hands, under immense conscious force of free will, fly to the back of your head and clasp for dear waking life. Your consciousness (your university professors made it clear you would fail, and possibly be jailed, if you ever used the term “soul” again, so unfortunately this narrative is left with little recourse for synonyms in this instance), ricochets back to the front of your lobes, causing a reverberation which shakes your guts into a showering display of vomit all across your dusty decrepit lap top. But still, you must power on. Fighting for a waking state of consciousness, you hit print and stumble, dazed and in pain, out of your home to collapse at the entrance of your local international department store chain.
“Oh dear… how may I help you?” the minimum wage slave asks.
You thrust the printed image towards her, and, sputtering through coughed up blood, “The back pack….. I need the back pack, can’t…. go…. on any further.” The exertion of this phrase proves too much, and you once again fade into unconsciousness.
When you awaken you find yourself in the store manager’s office with your pants around your knees. “That’ll do pig, that’ll do,” he says as he helps you up and on your way with a fresh new Dorah branded back pack. Sweet!
You scamper home and begin delicately loosening the threading on the old musty suit your absentee father left in the basement, maybe before you were even born, it’s hard to think that far back. This is going to be potent! Your Krazee Glued moustache looks totally pimp, your easily rippable suit is ballin’, and your mysteriously free purple back pack is most DEFINITELY stylin’! Good god! Your hatred of Dorah currently seems to be inexplicably pounded away, finally, you feel a deep love for the chimeric character you’ve created, and have a churning duality within you which simultaneously wants to proceed with the proposed money-making plan, while wanting to parade your fancy new digs around town, proudly becoming the new you which perhaps you always were. What to do?