EVOLUTION OF AN IDEA

I may just be a late inning substitute, but I'm f**kin' clutch!  I got it all figured out.  Mister Master is too proud to admit he's in over his head in his own head and all over and doesn't have shit figured out.  From what I've gathered from his mind, it's gone down something like this-

A single idea-

Fractured into a thousand peripheral sparks-

 

Something a little more concrete-

Then a foray into the Bad Ass-

Now an even Badder Ass excuse to avoid real work-

But getting lost back here-

And held up by the hope provided by this; a single idea.

 

No, I didn't create any of these graphics.  He did.  Instead of doing what he should, he wastes time on this crap.  Hey, peckerhead!  Get your shit out there!  It needs work.  You need help; I mean serious, professional help, but some of your stupid crap is kinda good!  And hey, numb-nuts, get to work on my story.  Make it a love story.  Call it- Ghasm- A Love Story- Read it or weep...tears of blood and bile.  Or whatever, just get to work.

Alright, leave us all alone.  We're creating a GMO (genetically modified opus).

BOO!  Shut up.  If Denise Richards can be a starship captain, anyone, and I mean ANYONE, can do whatever the hell they want!