If I poke my room to start cleaning, it will eat me. The clothing on the floor will create an army of fabric that will beat me to weakness, my backpack will knock my knees out from under me, the unused, misplaced furniture in my room will hold me down, and the random things on my floor that shouldn't be there will consume me.
And so I'll blare music, let the TV screen shine, and tackle it first.
If you never see me again, you know what happened. Hopefully I will come back victorious and, as punishment, my room will have to retain its sparkling condition.