Imagine for a moment, waking up in a bed, having willingly had sex with Jersey Shore star, Snooki. Once you’d scraped off 8 gallons of fake-tan residue off your stomach, you’d then need to start scrubbing the shame off yourself with wire-wool.

Only then can you start thinking about the fact you rogered Snooks without a condom on and that she was starting the process of harvesting a symbiotic thing inside her orange abdomen.

And then you see the engagement ring on her finger. You bought it for her. You remember proposing. You start to reevaluate your life and give in to that crippling tide of gloom that rises from your weakened knees, all the way into your nauseated stomach. Somewhere, all this translates into a single, solitary tear on your cheek. The world, it seems, is a cruel and unforgiving place and you’re stuck like Sysiphus.