One day, Bill Gates woke up feeling corneous as shucks. He turned to his personal Xbox One S, which conveniently sat atop his one nightstand. He ironically never used it, although it did serve two contradictory purposes. The first was to fill a void (namely, the top of his nightstand), and the second was to be a void for him to fill.
With his strong arms, Bill lifted the Xbox off the nightstand, careful not to break anything. He then unzipped his tight jeans, pulling out his tiny little pantsaconda. Becoming increasingly excited, he shoved his dingly-doo into the disk insertion drive. It hurt at first, but the more he slid his zip-ah-dee-doo-dah into and out of the sweet, tight disk drive, he began to feel the pain turn to pleasure, as it had many times before.
Bill’s danger carrot was no disk, but somehow it fit the slot perfectly, as if the console was his soulmate. His consolemate? Halfheartedly laughing at his admittedly-lame pun, he continued fracking the slot, more passionately than ever before. Harder and harder he thrust, until he could feel himself reaching the point of peak elation.
At long last he materialized, shooting his tiny human tulip bulbs inside the disk drive. Sweat dripping off his handsome forehead, Bill sighed a deep sigh in release as he pulled out, putting his flesh aubergine back into his polka-dotted boxers where it belonged. Replacing the Xbox, he proceeded to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth, took the Browns to the Super Bowl, and continued with his day.