Ah, if it wasn’t for the kindness of strangers he thought not for the first time in his life as he perused the subject lines of his spam folder. Funny thing, but it seemed they were forever wanting to either make him fabulously rich or add length to his penis. Sighing, he drummed his fingers impatiently on his knee and took a slow sip of morning coffee and resumed clicking down the long list of emails one by one. There was nothing but more, more, more, of the same, same, same, but nary a single solitary word about where his inspirations had gone gallivanting off too. He was (in a single solitary word) stumped.
But then (out of the blue as inspirations are exasperatedly prone to do) an idea floated down to him like a feather: if he were fabulously rich and hung like a horse…then… what use was there of having any pesky inspirations buzzing around inside his head anyway? Comparatively speaking it wasn’t like they ever did him any real good, did they? Because all he would do when the inspirations finally decided to come around is type ‘em in on his empty laptop screen as they slowly drifted to him, then Ctrl + C’d and Ctrl + V’d ‘em into the site’s dialog box when they quit, and then…and then…
Nothing. Yes, and then that would be about pretty much it.
But at least (he considered as he took another slow sip of morning coffee) since the accumulation of vast wealth and enhanced manhood might be a little trickier to finagle than what the spammers let it on to be, then maybe when the inspirations did come back around (as they always eventually do) they would bring in just a little sunshine into some happen-to-come-along reader’s life who might at that exact moment in time just be in desperate need of. And, if so, well…then that would be just cool beans with him because maybe then they would have a little gratitude in their hearts for the kindness of strangers, too. And, to him, that always helped make the gray just a little bit easier to bear.