I can't lie: that pink pops right out at me like a razor-bladed beam of sunshine. It cuts into my neo-cortex, dissecting everything I knew about color and rationality and rewires my brain so when I hear rain, I smell bacon. That stand is everything that was promised to us in our younger days, when we sat upon the knee of Odin Himself as he sang of a future unhinged with terror and beauty. That pink stand is, alone, the key that unlocks all futures, all possibilities, and the one true path straight past the clouds and into Valhalla. I will sacrifice a goat (or a child in a goat costume) to ensure that pink stand will be mine. Oh yes, Garth, it will be mine.