The Man with No Ideas lay on his sofa and thought.
"What do I do?" he wondered.
It is a sad fact that the Man with No Ideas spent most of his time doing this. In thirty years he had never come up with a single idea of his own. Whenever he spent time with his friends he always went along with what they suggested, drank what they drank, ate what they ate. All his clothes were made up of outfits he'd seen on mannequins in shop windows and the inside of his house was a complete replica of a home decoration magazine cover he'd seen once.
'All I want" he thought "is one idea of my own."
Suddenly, he felt a tingling at the bottom of his spine that travelled up to his neck and onto his head - making all his hairs stand on end. Then his nose started to tingle uncontrollably but he didn't need to sneeze. Finally he felt a strange sensation in his stomach, as if a hundred butterflies had all lifted off at once. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, he leapt up off the sofa, flung his hands in the air and cried out:
"I know!"
