Scribe! What Are These Twerking Slaves Doing on My Imperial Apple Box?!

In the heart of the Forum Romanum, Imperator Grumpius Maximus catches his scribe slacking on the sacred Apple Box of Sorcery during war council. The grizzled centurion jabs an armored finger at the glowing screen and roars: "Scribe! What are these twerking slaves doing on my Imperial Apple Box?! Close it now, before they distract the entire legion from conquest!" The scribe sits frozen, laurel wreath crooked, eyes wide in panic, mouth open like he's thinking "I can explain... maybe." The elegant matron nearby crosses her arms with a raised eyebrow that says it all: "Men. Still objectifying anything that moves, even pixels." The background legionaries crane their necks, pretending to check formations but clearly sneaking peeks at the forbidden dance on the cursed slab. Rome wasn't built in a day... but it could fall in an afternoon if this distraction spreads.