I marvel at my newfound masculinity. I flex my bulging biceps. The box quivers. But only in my imagination. Boxes don't really quiver. Obviously. I glare down at the box. "Looks like the shoe's on the other foot now, eh?" I cry. There is silence. I feel faintly ridiculous. I kick the box, angry that it has affronted me, even now that I have the Power of Greyskull. My toe hurts. The box hasn't moved. I am enraged. I have conquered the box (or indeed, have conveniently forgotten the events of less than two minutes ago), yet still it resists my shining abs and lustrous blond locks. I wrench a thick slab of rock from the ground beneath my feet. I ignore the obvious flaw in this plan. I fall over into the new hole beneath my feet. The boulder hits my sore toe. The box watches my embarrassment with a condescending stare. The box still has no eyes. That still makes it worse. I proceed to pummel the box into submission with the boulder. Suffice to say this tense battle of wills between superhuman idol and cardboard box continues for some time. The box does not submit. I feel shame at my defeat. I realise that whilst I may have become He-Man, the box is still the true Master of the Universe. I remove the sandals. My physique seems to deflate. My biceps no longer bulge. My locks are limp and dirty. I want to cry. I place the sandals back in the box. The box looks smug. I do cry. The box takes pity on me...