Butter Squid Cookie was currently pacing a worn Persian rug next to a mountain of scripts. Currently muttering directly to his pet, Golden Arctopus instead of shouting.

He stops abruptly, gesturing dramatically with one of his hands toward a single, small prop—a tarnished tin can.

"Utterly unacceptable! I told the prop master that the can needed to express the isolation of the post-modern confectionary landscape! This... this is merely dented! It lacks the soul-crushing weight of a thousand rejected screenplays! Where is the depth? Où sont les émotions?!"