Arthur, an elderly poet with a furrowed brow and silver hair, sat alone in his study. The room was filled with the warmth of a crackling fireplace, its light casting flickering shadows on the walls. On the desk before him lay an ornate book with three large words: "POETRY," "FOR," and "PIGS," its cover gleaming under the soft glow of a nearby lamp. A half-empty martini glass sat beside it, condensation forming small droplets on its surface. With a sigh, Arthur reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he opened the book.

Arthur turned the pages slowly. With each page, he cringes. He finds these poems highly offensive.

As Arthur continued to read, a wave of emotion washed over him. He vomits down his front.

Arthur turned off the lamp, casting the room into darkness save for the gentle glow of the fireplace.