“I…I CAN’T,” Eden wept, shaking like a lone beanpole in the wind, skewered into the soil of the ALLOTMENT OF WRETCHEDNESS. “I…I’m FRIT,” he whined. “The decks…I fear them!” And, that said, he ran into the toilet, issuing an ear-piercing, chilling ‘WAAAHHHHH!!!”. It sounded like a gang of demented 3-year old girls, joyriding an SPG van. If they’d just been knocked off their tricycles, moments before. On crack.