Professor Monkton, who graduated from a college created by his own imagination, wrung his hands as he looked at his bank statement. Hardly enough for a light luncheon at the local refuse tip. Everything now hung on his latest invention. A jam and sponge cake of delicious flavour and density, but topped with a clever edible toothpaste which allowed you to clean your teeth even as you ate.
Like many of the forward facing inventions of our time, this simple combination of two items into one package saved the busy careerist valuable time which might be better used to slag off their boss, or elbow that talented new junior into career obscurity before they had the chance to damage your chances of the ultimate luxery. An expense account lunch with someone who was of no benefit to the firm you worked for, but knew how to choose good wine.
His last invention. The radio controlled golf ball, guided by a sneaky transmitter attached to your watch, and meant to take the embarrasement out of corporate open days, had somehow failed to attract any sponsors. Now the exciting toothpaste cake was all he had.
He had left his last possible sponsor heaving into the trash can by his desk. His slight greenish colour and damp brow suggested that funding was not in prospect but not to worry. Tomorrow was another day, and he believed in following his star, even if it was to the edge of oblivion. “Remember” he said to his last girlfriend as he was packing his collection of soft toys into his suitcase shortly before vacating her apartment, “People told John Lennon he wouldn’t make it, and look what happened to him”. “He got shot” she replied. Hard to argue with the truth, but that was more to do with fame. He wasn’t seeking fame. He was only after immortality.