There once was a boy named Tony. Tony was six and loved playing with his toy jets. His mum said to him all the time "Tony, stop playing with your toys and get ready for dinner!" but Tony refused. Tony would play with his toys day and night, refusing to let his sister, or anyone, touch them for fear that they would be spoilt. One day his mate Fat Joe came over and tried to take the toy jets away from Tony but he cried and cried and finally Fat Joe relented. Tony became so obsessed with his toys that he never paid attention to anything else; letting everything else in his room fall by the wayside.
Tony's hot-wheels track soon fell into disuse and grew dusty and disused. Tony's internet was going to be super-duper fast and he was going to play games with his mates online, but since he found his darling jets he hadn't bothered to look at how to set it up. He just kept telling his mum it would be ready 'soon'.
His toy hospital and his toy economy went to ruins. Cobwebs and spiders ran amok in his tiny little model universe. Tony even started selling his model retirement village and medical centre in order to pay for more jets. He always wanted more and more jets. He wanted to line his walls with them. But when Fat Joe came asking for money for his own toy school Tony yelled and cried saying he had no money at all and that Fat Joe was being a meanie.
Fat Joe at an entire pie to console himself and got diabetes.
Tony's mother screamed at him 'Tony, please, why do you need more jets? You already have dozens!' Tony petulantly cried 'The Chinese are coming momma! The Chinese!' and flung himself into his room. He was inconsolable. For days Jets and the Chinese were all Tony could talk about - meanwhile his room was getting messier and messier.
Eventually his parents and everyone he ever loved abandoned him - secure in the knowledge that nothing could pull him from his jets. And as his parents left their house, a foreclosure sign being stuck on after them, Tony was still in the house, playing with his jets.