Ridiculous — ludicrous — why you can’t simply ask for jewellery or books or perfume or anything a normal person might request for their birthday is beyond him.

Larry grumbles under his breath as he struggles to rest the clunky camera on his chest – awkwardly curling his neck up to squint through the eyepiece whilst laggardly pumping himself (As it turns out, it's exceptionally hard to maintain a decent erection whilst battling the impossible logistics of self-photography.)

Once he's certain everything is lined up correctly, he slowly removes his hand from around his length and presses the shutter button; the device clicks, flashes, and whirrs – before spitting out a square polaroid that slowly develops as the light hits it.

Larry examines the image: marginally blurred, shaft veering off to the right so that the head of his dick is cut off by the corner border, and his feet in the background sticking up like two awkward canoes.

He snarls his frustration, and chucks the picture down onto the floor beside the bed with all the other failed attempts.