The fantasy goes like:
I own a small comic book shop at a flea market. You, the dirty little swede that you are, walk by and shove a comic into your pocket, then run. I chase you into a train station were you jump into an elevator, trying to escape. I jump in after you just before it closes and we wrestle in the elevator. All the commotion causes the elevator to break and it's pitch black. There, in those three hours, you teach me more about Swedish meat balls then I'd ever wanted to know dd