“Where’d you even find a toddler costume from a forty year old horror movie?” Queried the intrepid author’s smokin hot wife who breasted boobily into the lair of madness.
“ACKshooalleee, it’s definitely science fiction. Don’t trifle me with details, woman! There’s ethically questionable cybernetics happening! Go make me a sandwich in the spirit of dystopian capitalism!” The brilliant scientist (who definitely has actually seen the movie not just skimmed the wiki) ripped a long piece of duct tape.
“An sketties!” The little green unicorn added helpfully.
“You see what you’re doing? You’re teaching your fluffy pony misogyny for the sake of writing a story to go with your silly illustration idea. Get all this shit off the dining room table when you’re done, and you better mop! You got glitter glue all over the floor.”
But the authors smokin hot wife left the room, her globulus, perky turd-cutter unsmacked for the moment. The author was too distracted by the mighty art he had wrought.
