His Circumstances, Their Circumstances

The grass is always greener on the other side. At least, that was Mr Locke's first thought before he arrived at this place. Mr Locke was looking to purchase a new house. He wanted to move away from the decrepit state of his crime-infested neighbourhood and live in somewhere nicer.

One day, he saw a sales advertisement for a brand new house, conveniently located near a well-to-do housing estate. Without hesitation, Mr Locke immediately contacted the estate agent and made arrangements for a tour around the house tomorrow.

The next day, the estate agent came in front of Mr Locke's doorstep, fetched him with a car, and drove over to where the house is located, eager to give Mr Locke a tour. 15 minutes of driving later, they arrived at the house.

"Here we are good sir, your future home! What do you think?"

Mr Locke was temporarily left stunned and breathless. He couldn't believe his eyes, bewilderingly witnessing such twisted monstrosity.

"House? Is this really a... house?"

"Well, it's certainly shaped like one, and looked like one, therefore it IS a house. No doubt about it."

"It's just a large piece of thrown, crooked cardboard box held together by superglue and sellotape with the word 'house' spelled in crayons with three 'S'!"

"Thus we call it a designer's house! It's the result of combining the abstract concepts of Picasso and the deep poetry of Shakespeare. Of course, we have to mix in... a few bags of fertilizer and abandoned latrines to make it appealing to the human eye. The aesthetics and aroma are important elements not to be missed."

"My six year old daughter's a better designer! That's it, the deal o-"

"Excuse me sir, you've only seen the front of this house. I assure you that once you've toured the indoors, you'll surely change your mind."

Mr Locke agreed anyway. After all, it's a boring Sunday with nothing to do back home but scraping away the profane graffiti scribbled by the next door chav. The estate agent opened the door to the disappointing-at-first-glance house, only to uncover more untold horrors for the already underwhelmed Mr Locke.

"It still looks a piece of s-, what in God's name? Who is this escaped mental patient?"

"This, good sir, is a Star Wars fanatic in a Darth Vader costume hired as a bodyguard for this house. He passed through Jedi exams with flying colours and could authentically recreate memorable dialogues from Star Wars episode IV to IV."

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father...... NO. I AM YOUR FATHER."

"This... this is a lunatic with a Darth Vader helmet! I mean, LOOK! He only wears a boxer, a pair of bunny slippers wielding a crudely-painted rod! I'd have him arrested for indecency rather than him arresting the indecent!"

"Sir, if you could give this man chance, his Jedi pow-"

"This is the last straw! You can have your mad house all to yourself. Good riddance!"

"You are beaten! It is useless to resist! Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did!"

Mr Locke stormed out of the cardboard superstructure stomping his feet loudly, stopping a taxi, and left with an irate expression while giving a middle finger through the windscreen. The estate agent and 'Darth Vader' looked at each other with a disappointed look.

"Dude, I told you the idea won't work."

"Man, how on earth can we pull a perfect con job? This the only best idea we could come up with."