Moe whispered to Larry "Let's convince this putz that he's like a god...then we'll reel him in."
Larry quit munching Garnabby's center lobe long enough to fart his tuneful agreement, then went back to finish noshing.
Before you could say "Jimminy Cricket" Garnabby heard a voice in his head saying "You will become as famous as Plato...or maybe even Taylor Swift...You will now develop a Theory of Everything."
The daft Canuck put down his Molson and toasted blubber snacks and said aloud "Say WHAT?"
It was then that Moe exerted the control which is the special purview of brain worms: the hoser was putty in his slimy appendages.
Ten hours of continuous instruction reverberated in Garnabby's brain pan; at its conclusion he realized that he finally had a goal in life (other than squandering his time and money in casinos and penning obscene gematria on bathroom walls): he set madly to work, fueled as always by illegal pharmaceuticals.
Inspired by his hero Jack Kerouac (a fellow Canadian speed freak) Garnabby hand wrote his T.O.E. on a continuous roll of paper, fueled by meth and a craving for immortality.
Three days later having finished his magnum opus he used the last of his inheritance money to ship it to a self-publishing house for printing.
Exhausted, he put his head on his filthy pillow, only to hear "The worst is yet to come...the worst is yet to come..."
Moe snickered to Larry: "Just wait...this'll be good."
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