Tim the Printer Guy sat alone in his flat, staring down at the small canvas in front of him—a reminder of simpler days. He once had passion in his life, before he failed out of art school and had to sell his soul to a company—ProSales. His job had him traveling the state, visiting stores, and teaching employees how to sell printers, while getting treated like shit by the awful gremlins that work at these places. But through this job, as a mindless factotum, he had begun to rekindle the flames of passion. There was one store—PaperClips Office Supply.
Instead of gremlins, the store was filled with hulking Adonises which held the apple of his eye. There, Mikeal Zucchini with his long golden locks of hair; Octavian Glaze’s large muscles and booming bass of a voice, sending waves of please through Tim; Jamir Sambol, an exotic beauty that tickled some of Tim's wildest fantasies; and lastly Cage Yam, who was a nubile virgin that Tim had many dreams about. Tim loved each and every one of them and knew deep in his heart that they all loved him back. If it wasn't for the monstrous Adem Lewinsku, a Cro-Magnon of a specimen with a distinctly crooked nose and putrid stench. He guarded those beauties like a dragon, jealousy perched above its hoard.
Tim knew that if he wanted to claim these wonders he would have to slay this creature, but alas, he had given up the blade in favor of the brush. It would be so easy for him to justify reclaiming his sword and slaying the beast, but he knew if he walked that path of blood again he would lose himself to the call of battle and he would inevitably destroy his hard fought harem. Perhaps, he could create a painting of such incredible beauty that it would melt the monstrous Adem.
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Just as Tim touched his brush to the virgin canvas, the shrill sound of his microwave went off. The sound broke him out of his painting trance and set his brush down in a huff, set the unspoiled canvas back onto the easel and made his way to his small kitchen. As he walked, he passed pieces of art that would put the old masters to shame. Each painting depicted beautiful acts of love that Tim wrought onto his soon to be lovers. Tim made it across the kitchen to the microwave and pulled out his last hot pocket.
Tim held the hot pocket in his meaty hands and bit into one of the corners. He cursed himself for not being cautious with the delectable treat, as it was too hot—like the young men of PaperClips. He burned the interior of his mouth on the molten cheese, and swore loudly as he began to fumble around his tiny kitchen, desperately searching for a glass of water that he had poured earlier this evening. In his haste, Tim spilled the water all over his counter and spoiled the hot pocket. With his mouth burning and no dinner tonight, he let out a guttural scream and rushed back to his easel.
He landed heavily in his chair and stared at his current piece. It depicted Tim in the center of a field of flowers, standing over the decapitated body of Adem, while his lovelies were gathered all around him. In this painting, everyone was shirtless except for Tim, as his rather large gut brought him shame. He picked up the brush, and noticed that he had left a rather large blank space. Tim couldn't figure out how to fill it--the empty space mirrored his life, devoid of joy and so distant from those who ignited his creativity. He looked into each one of the faces, seeing if they would whisper inspiration...