I was trying to decide between two heavily discounted throw-rugs when a portly man swathed in soiled toilet paper asked me if I was from Prussia. Politely, I informed him that the country no longer existed.

“It doesn’t?” He blinked. “Ah, but what nation could stand against my soul-scorching discounts?” He emitted an eerily peacock-like shriek and began to masturbate. “LOOK AT THESE PRICES! I’VE LOST MY FUCKING SHIT!”

“Mr Maguire!” A clerk came sprinting around the corner. “How did you get out of the disabled toilet?”

I recognised the name from the signs outside. “This guy is the owner? What the hell happened to him?”

“Carpet madness. Terminal case, final stages. One more price cut and his brain will liquefy.”

“What? No, that’s not a real thing, it’s just spin for the ads!”

The clerk laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I remember when I was that dumb.”

Mr. Maguire huddled on the floor as a pool of urine spread slowly beneath him. “The bargains,” he whispered, eyes welling with cosmic horror. “The bargains.”