What better way could there be to capture the love and joy of your child's birth and preserve it for the far off future, than with a stainless steel time capsule engraved with your child's name and birthdate in between pictures of Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, and Tigger? [Yes, that's a rhetorical question. The answer I was looking for is "Disney Time Capsule."]
Just imagine that day, long after you're gone, when your son, now an old man, unbolts this thing from the rafters, pops it open, and finds a note from his parents, a crusty hospital cap, some yellowed phonecam stickers, and a strange-looking rubber bracelet with an oddly shaped clasp? What does it fit into, he will wonder? USB? What's that? And why is the receipt and proof of purchase in here, too?
And slowly it will dawn on him when he sees the sacred images of The Great Leader: this was how it happened. This was the exact moment when, by customizing his time capsule, you inadvertently assigned exclusive copyright for his name and likeness to the Walt Disney Corporation in perpetuity. This metal tube is the inescapable cause of the powerless, anonymous hell that was his life, where he couldn't even introduce himself in any medium or form in the known universe without the express written permission of Lord ESPN and Major League Baseball. And he will quietly curse you and weep.
Oh, and the receipt's in there because it's required for any factory repairs that might be needed down the road, and the Disney Mall instructions said to take care to put it in a safe place.