As a writer, I’m usually very protective of my ideas. But then I got to thinking, who am I to deprive others of my genius? Besides, I can’t possibly write a screenplay for every plot line I come up with. That said, I submit to you these movie ideas. Feel free to make them your own. All I ask is that you give me props in the movie credits using these exact words: “Genius by Smivey.” I thank you.

The Pig, The Boat and a Man Named Mestipapulious
OK, so there’s this pig, right? And it’s in a boat, OK? It’s just a tiny boat, though, like a dinghy or something like that. Keep in mind, this isn’t one of those fucking cartoon pigs that talks. It’s just a regular pig, but it’s wearing one of those tiny leprechaun hats that’s attached to his big head with an elastic band. Anyhow, for almost the entire film, you just see the pig hanging out in the boat, making those pig noises and wallowing in its own filth (note: make sure there’s mud in the boat.). At the end of the film, the pig reaches land. A man is waiting there. His name is Michael Radcliff. Not Mestipapulious. See, you’d be expecting it to be Mestipapulious. But it’s not. it’s Michael Radcliff. That’s the twist.

The Lesbian Princess
Princess Lolly is 25 and still single. She is totally hot and spends most of her days hanging out with the handmaidens in the garden. She also likes to take baths. Perfumed baths. With the handmaidens. Anyhow, she finds out that her father, who is also the king, has arranged for her to be married to Prince Jack. Oddly, Princess Lolly protests. Why? It can’t be because of the way Prince Jack looks. He’s totally hot. No, it turns out that Prince Jack’s sister, Princess Mildred, is a full-on lesbian. And Princess Lolly? She’s nothing but a close-minded homophobic bitch.

The Placebo Effect
George Herman works at the local Rite Aid as a pharmacist. Bored with his job, he decides one day to substitute everyone’s prescriptions with harmless sugar pills. All the patients take their medication as directed on the bottle, and faster than they can say “I’ve never felt better,” their health quickly deteriorates. Some die within days. Others suffer for months. As the patients’ symptoms worsen, the doctors prescribe different medications for them, only to have them substituted with another placebo by George Herman. Many years later, the authorities finally trace the cause of all the deaths to Herman. They come to the Rite Aid to make the arrest, but Herman quickly downs a handful of pills before they can stop him. As you might expect, the pills were only placebos. Nevertheless, he dies instantly. That’s the placebo effect.

Stuffed
Steve is a Certified Public Accountant who longs to become the world’s greatest competitive eater. Of course, he has to overcome a lot of obstacles before he can reach his goal: For one thing, he’s six feet tall and only weighs 130 pounds. He’s also a vegetarian and suffers from Irritable Bowel Syndrome. But Steve is determined to succeed. After suing the Nathan’s Hot Dog company, he wins the right to compete in their hot-dog eating competition — without having to eat any actual hot dogs. Wolfing down 400 lard-free buns in just 30 minutes, Steve beats the skinny Japanese guy’s record by just seconds. He goes on to compete in other competitions, but never even places in the events. At the end of the film, Steve enters himself in a habanero-chile eating contest and dies from internal bleeding after swallowing just one chile.

OK, that should be enough to get your started. Enjoy your fame and fortune, courtesy of me.

Dear (Name Omitted),

I’m sorry that our date turned out to be a complete disaster. But you were warned. Yes, I realize that I seem like such a suave, funny, sexy, genius of a man online. But the truth is, I’m not all that suave. Believe it or not, I spend most of my evenings at home, chatting online and eating dry cereal from the box. And as for dating, well, I don’t have a lot of experience.

Honestly, I thought it would be really romantic to send a taxi cab to pick you up. I even requested that the driver be a nonsmoker. But since there is no such thing, I insisted that he only smoke cigarettes. No cigars. That was thoughtful, wasn’t it?

And what about that gift I had waiting for you when you got in the cab, the case of Butterfinger candy bars? Didn’t you think that was nice? I mean, who the fuck doesn’t like a Butterfinger? Are you allergic to artificial peanut butter or something? I waited in line for 30 minutes at Costco to get you those damn candy bars. The least you could have done was eaten one. OK, I’m sorry. This is supposed to be an apology letter. Maybe those Butterfinger candy bars were a bad idea. But you have to admit, they are delicious.

In any case, let me explain why I was eating my dinner when you arrived. You were almost 20 minutes late. How long is a guy supposed to sit around eating appetizers and drinking wine? Granted, I probably should have left my phone on when I got to the restaurant, but I find it rude for people to take calls while others are eating. Of course, you later explained to me—okay, yelled at me—that you didn’t have enough money for cab fare and that the driver actually backed up his car and made you walk six blocks to the restaurant. How is that my fault?

Anyhow, after I polished off my seared scallops (delectable!), I was kind enough to offer you the green beans and mashed potatoes that were left on my plate. As you might recall, you declined. But did that stop you from whining about how hungry you were for the rest of the night? Nooo. I bet you’re sorry now for not eating one of those candy bars.

Alright, I know this is supposed to be an apology letter. But you really made me uncomfortable, what with the way you stared at me all night with your brow furrowed so unattractively. What did you expect me to do? I eventually paid you back for the cab fare, didn’t I? And I didn’t even complain when you threw only $4.50 in change back at me. I mean, any moron knows that $25.17 from $30 is $4.83.

But back to the apology. I really am sorry. I’m sorry that you didn’t think it was funny when I suddenly threw water in your face. I’m sorry that you had to go to jail for assaulting me with a steak knife. I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop laughing as I watched the police officers tackle you to the ground (you really should have seen your face). And I’m sorry for pressing charges. I suppose the least I could have done was bail you out.

That said, I’d like another chance. Maybe we could have dinner at one of those fancy European cafes? You know, something cozy, but not too intimate. Just some wine, good food and a little conversation. Oh, and don’t worry. This time, I’ll take care of the cab fare.