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Do you think he sees us?
What do you want from us? Money? What sane person would entrust a random crate on the side of the street with guarding the currency that they have worked so hard to attain? Anyone in his or her right mind -- not for a moment to suggest that you aren't for the strength of your iron grip on reality is matched only by the strength of your heroic virtues -- knows that we have much safer places to store larges amounts of cash/gold coins: they're called mattresses. Ammo? Any shells/mana/arrows for your shotgun/wand of fireballs/bow would surely have been scavenged by either one of your adversary's minions or one of the neighborhood kids, both of whom lack your impeccable moral fortitude and standards of personal hygiene. A hamburger to replenish your health? We're unrefrigerated containers who sit in the sun all day; if we did have any sort of meat-based energy-restorers to offer you, it would certainly be covered in fly larvae and e. coli by now, and in sufficient enough quantities to overwhelm even your superhuman constitution.
Really, only someone who completely lacked imagination would think that we make appropriate receptacles for random stuff you would find useful on your quest. We swear, our insides are as empty as the souls of the mean bad guys whose destruction by you we all so wholeheartedly endorse.
Wait, are we in your way? You know we would never willingly obstruct the path of righteousness upon which you stride so boldly. Just know that there is absolutely no need to break us up into thousands of pieces and stroll over our shattered remains -- we were designed to be moved! Take a good look at me: I'm a barrel. I'm designed to be rolled, not smashed into a pile of toothpicks. And Craig over there? He's a shipping crate for crying out loud -- a SHIPPING crate. He gets picked up and put down all day; it's what he lives for! He loves it! See? Move us out of the way and we all get what we want - you get to continue on your noble quest and we get to not be destroyed.
And don't think for a moment that your nemesis placed us in your path on purpose. Really, only a completely incompetent person would think that we, the inanimate and empty objects that we are, would make effective barriers to your inevitable triumph, especially since you're armed with laser eye beams/rocket launchers/swords twice as large as your entire body/powerful hands. You'd think that if they actually wanted to inhibit your progress in any meaningful, or at least interesting, way, they would have given the matter more than two seconds of thought and placed here, instead of us, pretty much anything else.
I judge by the expression on your face that my words have fallen upon deaf ears and that you are going to smash us not because you seek to gather items or to clear a path, but solely for your own amusement. As we have no means of locomotion with which to escape nor weapons with which to defend ourselves, we resign ourselves to our inevitable fate at your powerful, if misguided, hands.
Before you proceed with our execution, though, please answer this question: why? Why do you ground yourself by crushing containers when you could be soaring amongst the clouds, battling pterodactyls or Nazis with jetpacks? Why do you force yourself to remain here in the realm of the mundane by breaking barrels and boxes when you could be off exploring far-off new lands, discovering new forms of life and then slaughtering them? Why do you impose limits upon yourself by smashing static objects when you could be stretching your boundaries and expanding your horizons by taking any sort of action besides smashing static objects?
Really, only someone completely devoid of creativity would think that smashing crates and barrels is a remotely entertaining activity, especially when there are so many other things you could be doing. But do what you feel you must.
You'd just better hope I don't explode.