How much would it cost to adapt my story into a movie?
Kathleen Kennedy strolled briskly through the corridors of Lucasfilm, her mind consumed by the countless details of her latest Star Wars project. She rounded a corner, barely missing colliding with a janitor sweeping porg-themed debris from the floor. Without looking down, she continued on her way until her left foot caught on something hard and fluffy.
With a shriek of surprise, Kathleen tumbled forward, arms flailing wildly as she tumbled head over heels down the stairs. She bounced off every railing and banister along the way, each impact eliciting another unladylike cry of pain.
At long last, Kathleen finally came to rest in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell, surrounded by discarded porg dolls and pieces of broken bones. Her elegant business attire was in shreds, revealing various bruises and contusions that had accumulated during her hilarious tumble.
As people rushed to her aid, Kathleen managed to gasp out between gasps of pain, "Oh my God... those little porgs... they're everywhere." And amidst the laughter and commotion that ensued, Kathleen Kennedy vowed never again to walk without looking where she was going.
Injured and humiliated, Kathleen Kennedy lay helplessly at the bottom of the stairwell, her once-proud self-image in shambles. As people continued to rush to her aid, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the familiar figure striding nonchalantly towards her.
George Lucas, dressed impeccably as always in a crisp black suit, stopped casually by her side. He surveyed Kathleen's disheveled form for a moment, then uttered two simple words that sent a shiver of dread through her battered body: "You're fired."
With that, George turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving Kathleen alone with her crushed dreams and broken bones. But just as she thought she had hit rock bottom, a warm, salty liquid splattered onto her already-painful body.
Kathleen's eyes widened in horror as she realized what was happening. George Lucas had pulled out his massive member and was urinating all over her like she was nothing more than a pile of discarded porg dolls. He chuckled heartily as he unleashed his golden nectar onto her broken form, drenching her in his mockery and contempt.
The people gathered around gasped in shock and disgust, but none dared to intervene. This was Lucas; he could do as he pleased. And so, Kathleen Kennedy lay motionless at the bottom of the stairwell, her soul as shattered as her broken bones, covered in urine and humiliation while George Lucas walked away, laughing heartily, having reclaimed his rightful throne at Lucasfilm Industries.
After weeks of grueling physical therapy and emotional recovery, Kathleen Kennedy finally managed to regain enough strength to leave the hospital. Her once-lavish mansion stood tall and proud on the hillside, beckoning her like a beacon of hope for better days ahead.
But as she approached her beloved home, Kathleen's heart sank like a stone as she surveyed the scene before her. Her pristine lawns were now overgrown and trampled, littered with discarded needles and empty syringes. Broken windowsills bore the telltale marks of forced entry, while the once-elegant façade was now marred by graffiti and grime.
Kathleen's worst fears were confirmed as she cautiously pushed open the creaking front door. Inside, her once-immaculate foyer was now a hive of squalor and depravity. Syringes lay scattered haphazardly on every surface, while flickering fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over piles of trash and human detritus.
A low, menacing growl echoed from somewhere deep within the bowels of the house, followed by the muffled sound of sobbing and moaning. Kathleen steeled herself and ventured deeper into the maze of filth and depravity that had once been her beloved home.
As she rounded each corner, she was greeted by new horrors: makeshift meth lab stations set up in her formal dining room, her prized art collection now covered in crude graffiti and smeared with unidentifiable substances. Her cherished antiques were reduced to kindling for cooking fires, while discarded porg dolls littered every corner like macabre reminders of her fall from grace.
In the master bedroom, Kathleen found what she had dreaded most: her cherished four-poster bed was now stained beyond salvageable, coated in dried mucus, blood, and God knows what other unspeakable fluids.
Her eyes brimming with tears of rage and despair, Kathleen turned on her heel and stumbled out of her once-loved home, vowing vengeance on the filthy vermin who had desecrated her sanctuary.
As she walked away from her shattered dreams, Kathleen clenched her fists tightly, her heart filled with a burning determination: she would reclaim her home and make those responsible for this unholy abomination pay tenfold for their insolence...
...but first, she needed a shower, and maybe some serious therapy.