Its Like a Brain

Its like an arena. In the center is a shirtless guy laying down, he's wearing jeans. He looks down at his chest and occasionally at his arms, narrating the muscularity of himself. He also mentions the fashionability of his jeans which are slightly worn, and the general coolness of his character. A few feet away from him stands a guy, well dressed and angry. He shouts at the shirtless guy for being so vain, waving his arms furiously. A distance from both of them sits, curled up, a guy weeping who is filled with sorrow for the perilous situation that has befallen him and his friends. Near to him is another guy shouting. He is complaining about how much of a whiney, self-pitying jerk the curled up guy is. He points to his 80 dollar shoes and nice shirt and jeans, saying how good he's got it and how he has nothing to complain about. Overhead in a spectators box is a guy with a notepad ranting about how awesome this would make for a story and how great and creative an author he is. Next to him is a guy screaming about how lofty and self absorbed the writer is. Via camera a similar writer covers the arena and the box and has a similar guy shouting, and this goes on until its not really worth thinking about anymore. Well, it never really was worth thinking about.

Reviews

[Alicante lullaby]

i agree with him..author is creative.