[[BoxJam is sitting on a couch in front of a TV, writing on a tape while a stack of other tapes sits beside him.]]

BoxJam: I have spent countless hours video-taping the family, making copies of the tapes, dutifully annotating each tape, breaking off the little tabs so nobody will accidentally tape over anything, and building a library that tells the story of our lives for future generations.

[[The year 2042. BoxJam's children stand over his corpse. He clutches a tape in each hand even in death.]]

Little BoxJam: I think Bup's dead. Now we can finally throw out those stupid tapes.