The Ill-Writer Donovan put in a lot of his personal time and energy to ensure the success of his mind. Every day he woke up a six in the morning and did exercises on the bathroom floor. It was always a problem that his feet smelled very badly. The Ill-Writer Donovan put in a lot of his personal time and energy to keep his feet from smelling very badly so that he could ensure the success of his mind. After exercises and foot-fungus killing, The Ill-Writer Donovan sat down and wrote ill of the things in his world. If he was feeling angry he would write ill of people that he had known in his life, or of people he had loved. If he was feeling sad he would write ill of his situation and the causes of bad situations, such as taxi cab drivers who do not know how to get you where you want to go, and also vending machines that take your money, or banks that are always closed if you try to go to them after work why oh why don’t they stay open until six!!! This dilemma about the banks was something that was of very much bother to The Ill-Writer Donovan, for he would generally, after exercises and foot-fungus killing and writing ill of things, go to the publishing agency and do politics for very many hours. The Ill-Writer Donovan needn’t be a very good writer in order to be a rich one. In college The Ill-Writer Donovan had been able to shotgun a beer faster than anyone else, and he could blow impeccable smoke rings, and he did coke with the Olsen Twins. This meant that everyone at the publishing agency wanted to be like The Ill-Writer Donovan and so they always gave him money. And then his ill writing went out around the world on the internet and on pieces of paper. And everyone in the world read the writings of The Ill-Writer Donovan. And then they all wanted to be like him also, and they all wanted to speak ill of the things he wrote ill about. And soon the people that The Ill-Writer Donovan did not like were people that a lot of people did not like and the things that bothered the Ill-Writer Donovan especially were complained about oh so much more by everyone else. But when Arbuckle K. LeGoot read the ill writing of The Ill-Writer Donovan, he was smart. Arbuckle K. LeGoot was the man who made the rule that banks had to close at three o’clock. Very often the media would ask him why he made that rule and he could not remember, so that he had to say that there was probably a good reason but he did not remember what it was…he would get back to you. Nonetheless he had made the rule and he was a smart man and when he read the ill writing he said “Pish posh on this mish mosh! I do not care if the Ill-Writer Donovan does not approve of my rule because he is a rapscallion and I am a stubborn brute. Hence, my rule shall stand.” And also did The Ill-Writer Donovan find that taxi cab drivers were not ever-so-much-more knowledgeable nor were vending machines ever-so-much-more likely to give you back your money when you ask for it. So The Ill-Writer Donovan became disheartened. Everyone always listened to his ill writing but alas his problem was the same. Every day he would be done with his exercises, his foot-fungus killing, his ill writing, his politics, and then it would be time for him to go to the bank, but it was always closed! But after all it was the modern age and naturally he was very good at politics, so that The Ill-Writer Donovan had very many up scale credit cards and discovered that he could live comfortably without going to the bank. And everyone in America loved The Ill-Writer Donovan’s ill writing so much that he became very rich and spoiled. And there were very many women of the night who enjoyed their time with The Ill-Writer Donovan, and he enjoyed his time with them. It was an interesting life for The Ill-Writer Donovan to live. But how was this ensuring the success of his mind? It was not. His mind was a failure after all. For if The Ill-Writer Donovan was writing ill, it was not because he was angry or because he was sad, but only because he was self-conscious and generally dissatisfied with his time on this Earth. So there came a day when The Ill-Writer Donovan changed his routine completely.
After several years of bestselling ill-writing all across America, the Ill-Writer Donovan woke up at six in the morning and did his exercises. These days his personal fitness trainer helped him do these exercises, making sure that the gluts and lats got extra exposure this morning. Then came the time when The Ill-Writer Donovan would focus on his foot-fungus killing, but fortunately his fame as an ill-writer made him very rich, as I said before, and so he had enough money to pay for extremely fancy medicine that turned his fungus into thin air. So he went directly to his computer and sat down again and began to write. But today he decided to do things differently, and instead of writing ill, he started writing well. He discovered with glee that well-writing was much more fun than ill-writing. To his further glee, he discovered that well-writing could be done much more quickly. He decided to write well about all of the things that he generally enjoyed. He was listening to Pink Floyd, so he wrote well about them. Then he was talking to his sister on the phone and remembered that he had written ill about her so he wrote some words of well about her too. Then he wrote well about certain kinds of wine and about a few environmental groups in Washington D.C. that were saving the rainforest. And then he even wrote a little bit of well-writing about Arbuckle K. LeGoot because he was thinking how Arbuckle K. LeGoot had had a lot of guts to resist and keep his dumb rule while everyone else really wanted to be like The Ill-Writer Donovan and speak ill of everything. Then the Ill-Writer Donovan had written so many feathery pages of well-writing that he could not write any more for fear that he would do injury to his fingers. And yet, when he looked at his watch, he noticed that it was not yet noon. This excited him. He gathered up his well-writing and headed to the publishing company.
Everyone at the publishing company was very hung over and they were still drinking coffee non-stop and pretending that they had gotten a good night’s rest. The Ill-Writer Donovan showed everyone his new writing and they were very angry. He was used to being good at politics and when everyone was angry he said “who wants to do a line with me in the bathroom?” but nobody did and so he said “oh well.” His boss was a fat smelly man that everyone liked to make fun of, and his boss was a very big fan of all the ill-writing, and his boss stood in the corner by the copy machine frowning and snarling and saying that the well-writing was repulsive drivel and it would never hold an audience and The Ill-Writer Donovan might as well give it up. So The Ill-Writer Donovan said “oh well” one more time and he left the publishing company. It was only 1:32.
Seeing as his day was not nearly over, and normally it was around six when he would be leaving the publishing company, and he was not hung over or even very upset at all, and seeing how it was generally a sunny day and he decided to write well from now on because why not, well, seeing as these things, The Ill-Writer Donovan headed to the bank. Because it was not yet three o’clock, despite Arbuckle K. LeGoot’s dumb rule, The Ill-Writer Donovan was able to take out all of his tremendous fortune in cash for the first time. And so he did. And then it was only 1:56. So the Ill-Writer Donovan had plenty more time left in the day, and he decided to buy that terrible vacant lot where they keep on saying they’re going to build a Super-Stop & Shop but they never do. And so he did. And then he hired bricklayers and masons and plumbers and architects and engineers. And he founded his own publishing company right there on the spot. And he called it “Well-Writers Inc.” And he changed his name to The Well-Writer Donovan because that was something that you were waiting for for this whole story. And he also opened, on the third floor, a school for well-writing that taught young girls and boys to write well rather than ill, and to be themselves and nobody else. And then it came to be three o’clock, in fact three o’clock came and went, and The Well-Writer Donovan did not mind so much that the bank was closed.
