Once upon a time, there was a box. The box wasn’t magical, and it didn’t play a tune, because both of those would be cliched. However, the box WAS sourced irresponsibly from a protected type of wood, so the owner was forced to hide it in a cabinet and fend off the advances of his mafia buddies whenever they had seedy, clandestine dinners at midnight. It was a serious problem, so nicely carved was this box.
Then, a plot twist happened! The mafia guy’s son happened to become good at tree removal, one of Melbourne’s finest tree felling people whose job it was to remove trees, but only the bad ones. Not like a logging company or anything. That’d be terrible. So he became an arborist, but he’d grown up thinking that his father was a totally transparent businessman, and not a seedy mafia dealer on the side. One day, when working late chopping down those trees, the son came home and accidentally discovered his father at one of the aforementioned parties, just at the moment when he was showing his mafia buddies the box. He went through a lot of mafia buddies due to them always vanishing under mysterious circumstances, so he always had new people to show, is what I’m saying.
Anyway, the son knew trees. It was his business, one he’d pursued with grand dreams to be just like his father one day, so he’d gone the extra mile in his studies. He knew all about the dangerous, protected wood, and that you’re not supposed to cut it down and use it to make a box, because it’s illegal and rude and probably owned by the queen or whatever. But all that time spent becoming a Melbourne tree removal person was to please his father, his hero! What to do? It would be like becoming an accountant and discovering that your father was a serial embezzler.
…actually, that’s much better. Hang on a moment, I think I want to pitch again…