It was fingerpainting day back in kindergarten for young Warren (for that was his name). Each kid got a large piece of paper and the teacher went around and squirted generous amounts of paint on each one. Then, along with the rest of the class, Warren got to moving the paint around on the paper. He stopped to look at it, and it wasn't quite right, so he kept working at it. A while longer and it still wasn't there yet -- the paint was beginning to dry by now and getting harder and harder to move around, yet he continued, undeterred.
Meanwhile the teacher was walking around the classroom looking approvingly at each student's artwork. At last she came to our hero, who was still wrestling with the muse. "That's very good, Warren," she said, picking up the paper to admire it. She held the paper upright as if to display it for everyone.
All the paint slid right off the paper onto the floor.
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