To capture the gist of the unique situation, Stan was a man somehow trapped in a room, and in that room there was a porkchop. And only a porkchop. But Stan accepted that. For Stan never thirsted or starved, thus nullifying any conflict. The room was small, drab, white, and unnaturally bright. But Stan accepted that, too. He had no reason not to. Stan vaguely remembered once not accepting it. Stan remembered vaguely of a moment long ago, railing against the room, with endless fury and maddening desperation, but never getting anywhere. And so he learned to accept it.
A typical day for Stan consisted mainly of staring at the porkchop. Well, staring at the porkchop while sitting in his chair. And it should be noted that the porkchop also sat in a chair. To be precise, the porkchop lay in a plate, which rested on a chair. The two chairs in the room faced each other, which pleased Stan, since it helped visibility. Visibility of the porkchop.
Stan became a musician in that room. The porkchop was his greatest muse, and his greatest audience. Though his only instruments were his voice and the percussive qualities of the porkchop, (indeed Stan loved the loud, sucking noise it would made when slapped,) Stan wrote, conducted, and performed many great symphonies. Each was about the beauty of the porkchop. It pained Stan greatly that each symphony, in turn, received a disappointingly cool response from its audience. “A porkchop is a fickle mistress,” often noted Stan, unsure if his statement was truly apt. But that didn't stop him from writing his greatest symphony of all, titled “The 'A Porkchop is a Fickle Mistress' Symphony.” Not surprisingly, it received a cool response, and thereby became Stan's very last composition. Flustered, he swore never to play music again. Stan was true to his word.
Stan often resorted to fantasy in moments of boredom, but never varied much from his tried and true, albeit formulaic, fantasy. To wit: a villain enters the room. The villain captures porkchop, and escapes. Stan begins his odyssey to recapture his companion, and set order to the world. The fantasy typically lacked an acceptable middle or end, but Stan didn't mind all too much. The villain was typically a bear, or an astronaut. Stan feared bears, and loathed astronauts, so they made perfect villains. The bear would typically bring the porkchop to the woods, while the astronaut typically brought the porkchop into space. Every once in a while, the astronaut would bring the porkchop instead to the woods. However, the bear never brought the porkchop into space. Stan was very firm on that point, mostly because he couldn't imagine a bear having the mental capacity to do so. Although the villain would always kidnap the porkchop, he would never do it bodily harm. The villain, while malevolent, wouldn't dare. The fantasies held Stan's attention, but lacked suspense, for it was nothing less than a certainty that the porkchop would always be right where Stan last saw it.
In his room, Stan felt that he was free from want. He had as much sustenance as he could ever need, which was none, and he had certainly had companionship. But Stan often asked himself if there was something more for him. Something beyond the four walls and the long forgotten symphonies. Even beyond the porkchop. For every once in a great while, Stan wished that he would thirst, and wished that he would starve. For though it ultimately would mean great pain, signify the end of Stan's current paradise, and not before long, mean the death of his one true friend and love, he felt that this possibly infinite time of pain and loss might be worth it, if the brief consumption would signify a consummation of Stan's complete experience in the room.