Stooge beheld himself in his later teen years, studying a thesaurus. He was quite alone, and looked quite pensive. "I must find the perfect word," he muttered.
The Idea, love of his life, walked into the room. "Under-Achiever," she said, her voice shaking. "I have come to say good-bye."
"You're leaving for the day, are you?" young Stooge said, without looking up.
"No, I have come to say good-bye for good. Next to Publication, I weigh very little."
She dropped a handful of gold coins onto one side of the scale, then dropped a pen into the other. She then turned around and left.
Present Stooge cried out. "No! Write her, you fool! Don't just sit there: Write her."
"He cannot hear you."
"Muse, take me away from this place; I wish to see no more." His wish was granted. Stooge found himself in bed again, his eyes wet with tears.