"We need to revise Cruela to make her more marketable to the lady boss of today. I got it! Instead of her murdering puppies for profit, let's make it about revenge! Oh, and she's a self-made millionaire from scrubbing toilets or something. People most definitely relate to becoming millionaires by scrubbing toilets and being mauled to death by dalmatians, not having their loved ones captured and killed by capitalists. Who else agrees?" Asked the Lady Mouse Boss to a room of writers with terrified looks upon their faces. Their gazes locked on a dimly light projector screen where a video of their loved ones were tied to chairs played without audio. Mere inches away from them was a pack of ravenous dalmatians, foaming at the mouth, and lunging towards them. The dogs were only held back by off-screen handlers. Both the captives and dalmatians looked like they hadn't eaten in some time.

The room was silent for what felt like an eternity, occasionally the muffled sounds of a some writers crying could be heard. Suddenly, the room filled with the sound of plastic rollers screeching across the tile floor, followed by Tom jolting up from his chair.

"I love it!" decried Tom, who was dressed in his usual faded Harvard sweater that was so old now it was beginning to fray much like Tom had when he became fascinated by Ayn Rand in junior high school.