Colorful cardboard boxes arrive at the suburban loser's front door and he unseals them like pharaoh's tombs, waving away clouds of dry ice before extracting velvety white cheesecakes with smooth tops covered in thick strawberry sauce from a famous restaurant in Times Square, hamburger sliders from Venice Beach that come precooked and deconstructed with reheating instructions more detailed and precise than the ones that come with nuclear warheads. The suburban loser brings these treats to family parties and sets them next to the plastic trays of cookies and deviled eggs others bought at grocery stores on the way over. He'll keep an eye on his delicacies until someone takes a first bite, and as delight and surprise spread across their face, he'll tell them the food came all the way from New York, California, Texas, even Florida. It's not exactly cheap to buy food from so far away, he tells people, but it's something he likes to do to treat himself from time to time. Sometimes at the end of a long week, all you need is look out your kitchen window and watch your wife bend over her flower beds while a lobster roll from Maine defrosts in your kitchen sink.