If Writers Block was a being, it would be an ominous grey cloud of nothing. Hidden beneath its layers of blank and blank, and oh, more blank, words and ideas would lay, suffocated by the toxic gasses that press in on all sides, keeping imagination just out of reach in the deep hole of its stomach. The dreaded creature, of course, would nestle itself in the crevasses of the many great minds across our globe, and suck the inspiration out of our very thoughts and devour it.

When writers block takes over a victim, such as myself, it clings tight to its victim’s pink fleshy brain-parts with its long, barbed claws. The creature licks its lips, before seasoning its meal with a little bit of pepper, and maybe some chocolate flakes, and sucks strands of words up like spaghetti. (Mmm… spaghetti… that’s made me hungry now.)
Writers Block (let’s call the creature Henry, because I can’t be bothered writing Writers Block over and over for this entire story,) has no proper cure – the only way you can get rid of it is by cutting open your skull and inserting other people’s ideas to dislodge its grasp on your brain. The added creativeness will overwhelm the creature, like if you where to place a human in a sea of ice-cream and sprinkles, or a tiger in a butcher’s shop. Or an octopus in a desert. Or some other thing in another place or whatever.
Okay, I admit I lied. Henry has a number of possible cures. Such as setting your hair on fire, eating a whole jar of vegemite, or staring at a blank page until you start writing gobbledegook. Though those options are much more dangerous, less reliable, and will usually result in death and/or permanent madness. I wouldn’t worry about that, since I am already insane, but for others who are not quite so nuts and might like to stay that way, I would not recommend you try them.
Henry visits most authors around 7 times every 5098 five letter words written in most types of literature, so if you happen to find him latched onto your own scalp, you are not alone in your suffering. In fact, I myself have been taken over by Henry at the best of times. We have become something like allies, he will leave my brain alone if I let him use my swimming pool. It is quite hard for a small toxic gaseous blob to swim, but for some reason Henry enjoys it.
And in fact, the only reason I am writing this interesting article right now is because I managed to bribe Henry with pool noodles, which are both delicious and buoyant. He enjoys the orange ones the best. Really, if you don’t want your orange pool noodles stolen or chewed, you should lock them in a safe. Go do that now if you have not already.
Oh no… Henry has finished devouring his orange floaty noodles.
He's actually quite scary when he sprints towards you. Like angry grey fairy floss. And he’s fast. Really, really fast.
Really, really, really fast –
Really, really, really, really, really…

What comes after really?

Aw, man, he’s eating my thoughts right out of my brain. I was going to write something… Something…
I. Have. No. Words.
Must. Bang. Head. On. Keyboard. Until. Words. Come.  gfuGT6.;4threSSSSSSSaSSSss jkhtyuj.,l

I give up. I’m going to go eat some vegemite. Unless someone finished of the jar, which they might have. Either way, right now this thing is going nowhere, so goodbye.