He smacked the palm of his hand firmly against his forehead hard. It sounded like a firm seven year bitch slap. The reason for this violent act of self-infliction was unknown, but this was certain. It hurt. Kevin Ridiculous was at the peak of frustration, and it was of his own making. He was one of those jack-of-all-trades, and master of nothing. This is not to say he was useless, but in comparison to his peers, he was. He put too much pressure on himself for all the wrong reasons. This, as well as his addiction to morphine, was what prevented him from success.
He wanted so much more than what he had: higher status, a steady paycheck and someone to love. Instead, he had nothing. No status, no job, and a profound sense of loneliness, the kind that makes you cry uncontrollably, while over-thinking your inner and outer ugliness.
Stress was wreaking havoc on his health. One of the many pimples on his nose played host to another pimple. His stomach burned with ulcers. His right ear was bleeding from trying to scratch an itch with a jagged pencil.
Kevin had inadvertently discovered the cure for cancer. Any other person would be mad with pride, but not Kevin. He was trying to figure out how to save face, for in actuality, his original intent was to invent a true all-in-one remote control.
The answer to his dilemma became as plain as invisible ink reappearing on onion-skinned paper. He would tell one lie after another, and ultimately claim that he meant to cure cancer. Little would he realize that when untruths combine with a moral conscience, stress will increase wildly and exponentially. None of this mattered, for he had just found a big chunk of morphine, which must have belonged to his apprentice.