In a room, somewhere in the world, were two guys trying to figure out their next hit.
"What do you wanna sing about?"
"Girls, you know, like boobs and ass, and all that."
"Don't we have four songs of the subject already?"
"Not raunchy."
"Right. How about something else?"
"Guns?"
"No."
"Robbing banks?"
"Where did that one come from?"
"Life? Melodramatic sappy shit, that hits you right in the feels."
"Wasn't our whole album about that?"
"We can make a new one. They won't know what hit them."
"Yeah. No."
"Man, it's hard with you now."
"Well, 'cause we're stuck in a rut."
"We're not. How's about we remake something?"
"Are we Hollywood now?"
"All flash and no pash, the fourth album. We even have a title."
"Selling out as the subtitle."
"Now we talkin'."
"I'm going out to clear my head."
"Cool. I'll think of songs."
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