Frank thought of it and did it. Just like that. Had he contemplated for the least bit of a nano-second he would not have started screaming and motioning at his mouth, like he somehow could not stop screaming. He grabbed a piece of paper off his desk, and scribbled a note for his astonished boss. " I CANT STOP SCREAMING. TUMOR PROBABLY."
He keeps the screaming going, as best he can, as he grabs his coat and heads to the elevator. When he is inside pushing the button for the first floor, he glances out as the metal doors close on the office that has been the center of his life for the last fifteen years and realizes for the first time that he has done something irrevocable...
From that day forward, he would scream loudly at anyone who spoke to him, and hand them a card saying it was a neurological disorder, and asking for donations. He made enough working a mere ten hours a month to afford his humble, dumpster based lifestyle. After he died and people found his journals, and they were published under his own ttle, "DON'T IT JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO SCREAM,' the public and critics alike realized he was an artist and those cards he used to hand out became worth millions.
True story... happened to a moose I know.... from way back. A hottie of a moose, sure... But nothing much happened betwee us. Nothing at all... Is what I meant. Nothing. Nada. And no, I am not protesting too much... I am still touchy about the beastiality issue, since they are some of my biggest fans, from way back... but I don't want people to think... Imean, I don't know how it happened, some kind of misunderstanding or another, but I caught on with that subculture. Some get gays. I got... well, the bestiality crowd. They gather at my comedy shows, actually. I figure after all these years of Beastiality buffs following my work, I am obliged to be kind to them.