It was fantastic, I was a star! From the ads came the holograms, then the toys. I was given my own show where the tribes competed for a life-time supply of Brain Choc. The high point of the show was the moment I whipped the Brain Choc bar out of my pocket while the studio audience yelled; "THESE!" I had to have my teeth capped and then whitened every day by a crack team of dental nurses who dressed in tight white tunics and flashed me every time they bent down, so that I could give that gleaming grin.
I was driven in state of the art spacelimos by specially built robot chauffeurs, programmed to give me the smoothest ride. The price of Brain Choc rocketed. Such was the clamor, stores were built that sold nothing but Brain Choc. New flavors were brought out; mint, orange, raspberry and lime. And still the price went up.
I was suddenly the hottest property this side of the horse-head nebula. Special nutrient-rich Brain Choc was developed so the tribes could live on it exclusively.
Then came the disaster. Thinking back I should have known it wouldn't last. In an ill-advised stunt the company decided to make the biggest bar of Brain Choc ever seen. There was to be a new ad, showing me abseiling down it's Northerly face. Unfortunately there was a terrible miscalculation and the resultant bar of Brain Choc was so vast it developed its own gravity. The instability caused a fracture in the space-time continuum and all the planets of the tribes were sucked into a black hole, together with the last supplies of Brain Choc in existence and leaving nothing behind but a swirling mass of chocolaty goodness.
It was only due to the fact that the robots piloting my spacelimo were so well-programmed that I alone escaped without a scratch. So there I was, all alone, with nothing but six robot chauffeurs, a spacelimo and a blinding smile.
What was I going to do now?