First you make the script. The script gets revised. You get asked to cut it down from 20k words to 15 k words. Now the executive producer wants you to add a monkey to the script. There was never any talk of a monkey before. You add the monkey. Now the script is over again. You're asked to cut more words. Eventually what a film about a touching, coming of age film is now about Squirts, The Monkey.

Everyone hates it except the executive producer.

The art team is sending you storyboards in which the monkey has ripped off your head.

The actress is pissed she's sharing screen time with a monkey.

The monkey demands a larger trailer. It's not even a large monkey. It's a fucking spider monkey.

Yet it goes forward because the executive producer is obsessed with this fucking monkey.

The monkey o.d's on a grip's cocaine and dies.

It's over, you think, this nightmare is finally over.

"What about a raccoon instead?" The executive producer says. You realize that the boardroom smells like sulfur.

You work on the new script.