I'll start looking up some reasonable and yet popular side actors to thus furthermore improve the movie as a whole. You know for the right amount of money we could hire Samuel l Jackson. He can play as Trops black father for the first quarter of the movie, but ends up dying in gangster related business afterwards.
I'll give him a call right now. We need some writers to continue with the climax and conclusion later on. Any takers?
I vote Macaroni as the main plot developer. I read his piece 'The Iraqi War Diaries: Coming Home for the 37th Time this Week" and it blew my mind. It was just so emotional. And on Chapter 12: Hearts Reunited, when he came home to his wife, a tear escaped my right eyeball and slowly stopped at the corner of my mouth. I then consumed it, and I felt it join as a fragment of my soul as I shoved my face with Breyers® Creamery Style™ Dark Chocolate Velvet ice cream. Soon I began sobbing uncontrollably, collapsed as I lay in a puddle of my own tears and ice cream that had melted from my body heat as I convulsed, gripping the book. I had moved onto Chapter 13: Leaving the Wife Behind Again.
My consumption of tears had bloated my soul, and I could feel it trying to pop out of my chest. I gripped the piece of fabric above my heart, and tore my shirt off, a battle cry piercing the now dead silent air. I balled my fists and pounded my chest, preparing to recite the phrase he told his wife before he left for good. I smeared the dairy and eye secretion concoction over my face, turned around to the nearest person, and screamed, "FAREWELL, WOMAN. DON'T SLEEP WIT DAT GUY DOWN DA STREET AGAIN, OR WE IS GONNA HAS PROBLEMS." I felt a sudden energy hit me; yes, it was time for my soul to break loose from my hollow, broken shell of a being.
I fell to the floor, rubbing my face into the sticky carpet. Mmm, it smelled so good, like chocolate. I slowly bent my body into the Cobra pose, face up to the bright lights, and howled like the wolf I know is in me. "Don't sleep wit dat guy down da street again, or we is gonna has problems!" kept replaying over and over in my mind. That line felt like it spoke a destiny. A destiny his wife could not control. I slowly sat into an upright position as I closed the book; I had read enough for the day. A woman, no, an angel walked over to me. She looked at me, and said, "Ma'me, we're going to have to ask you to leave. Your actions are not prohibited in this library." I stood up, patted her on the shoulder, and turned to the crowd that had gathered. "Macaroni... he speaks the heart." I banged my chest once more with my fist, and walked out. I am no longer allowed into the Toronto Public Library.