Richard: There are times I hate this job — times I hate having to take the piss out of perfectly normal, sane, well-meaning people who’ve had the misfortune of being captured (mostly naked) at precisely the wrong moment.

Take this young fella for example — clearly a proud father serenading his son in a late-night lullaby. I feel doubly saddened by the fact that his son was born without an immune system, thereby requiring him to live forever in a plastic bubble. On the upside, however, technology seems to advanced since John Travolta’s day, to the point that such bubbles now come in a variety of designer colors — in this case, a shade of kelly green that perfectly complements the room. Because, I mean, the last thing anyone would want would be for their immune-comprised baby’s bubble to look obvious or anything.

John: Everything traditional is what our hero is looking for. The warm matronly cabinet behind him, the cradle at his side, the Tex-Mex acoustic guitar to cover his naughties — he’s looking for marriage, guys. No furtive clutching at each other over the gear shift in a sedan, no smoky bars where they serve lite beers — no he wants the full deal. In a church. Kids — adopted, if necessary; mixed-race, preferably (O, save the planet!)

And he’s dynamite in bed too. The long hair and the iguana appliqué on the guitar tell you that. Our boy knows how to get down and righteously nasty, but only in private and only for you. Most of the time he wants a life as four-square and settled as this room — with a little medicine ball action in the cradle to liven things up.

Steve: Why aren’t we talking about the small, fuzzy turtle with bushy orange eyebrows that oversees the entire scene from his varnished podium of judgement? Is that taboo? I feel like I’ve missed a crucial cultural cue that would allow me to understand why the turtle is normal.

I only bring it up because the turtle looks concerned, and I think it points to a deeper story here. Something years in the making that has culminated in the moment we see. The cords hanging from the ceiling are also saying something to me. I can’t be sure without confirmation, but I suspect that this man’s life may depend on which one of them our concerned turtle friend decides to pull.

Shout Out! to Wayne from Wayne’s Naked Musicians. ROCK ON!