There I sit, staring, trying too hard to think.
I must think of an idea, and fast. I must write something brilliant. Think brain think...I have a brilliant reputation to uphold. If I don't write something absolutely amazing, absolutely mind-blowing, everybody will laugh at me, and say I'm washed up even before I'm successful.
Oh wait, here comes something. It's seeping into my brain. Yes. I feel an epiphany any moment now...
"Poop."
My eyes light up as I write the words. It...It's amazing! Top that world. I print off the word "poop" and attempt to sell it at the Louvre museum in Paris, because I'm uneducated enough to believe that that is the only art museum in existence.
Before the curator can even speak a word in Frenchy-babble to me about the sheer brilliance of my work, I demand a specialized payment. I tell the man that I will only accept payment in the form of toy poodles. There's a reason I want that many poodles. You know those ball pit thingies like they have at Chucky Cheese? Well, I always wanted to have one of those, only with poodles instead of balls. Ideally, there would be enough poodles in there that my weight would be evenly distributed amongst them, and no single poodle would be crushed. I mean, it's not like I'm some kind of monster or anything.
But yeah. "Poop"
Comic gold, amiright?
Now I know. (Seriously, I do)
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