Years ago, I discovered something strange: the smell of cardboard makes me happy.
I was working at breaking down close to a hundred large cardboard boxes in a relatively small room, and after a while the smell filled the whole space. I kept feeling happier, and I had no idea why. Before that, I hadn’t even consciously known that cardboard had a distinct scent. And then I realized: it smells like old books. Walk into a used book store, and what you smell will be almost exactly like concentrated cardboard.
That’s right, folks. I have walked into bookstores so many times, and been so consistently happy about it, that I have a Pavlovian response to the scent of cardboard. Of course, this does mean that when nuclear radiation inevitably turns me into a giant bookstore-eating godzilla monster, defeating me will be fairly simple. All the military will need to do is set a trap and bait it with massive quantities of cardboard.