Georges sat on his couch. That's all he did, really. That's all he had been doing for the past few weeks, and that, as far as he could see, was all he was going to be doing for a long time. Georges was very bored. He spent most of his days watching TV. A very strange phenomena happened to people who watched as much TV as Georges had: They begin to enjoy it. Suddenly, intellectual value, creativity, plot and character devlopment lost their meaning, and Georges was content to sit and watch whatever the neon window had to offer. Most of it was inane and stupid, and if Georges had his way, all of it would be inane and stupid. But, then, he didn't care, either.
There were things to be done, of course. He had to do the laundry, since his clothes all had things growing on them. He had to shop, since the food he did have had things growing on it. He had to at least move, since he had things growing on him. In fact, his house was looking more and more mossy everyday. He also had to start building that empire, conquer and world, and become it's emporer. He promised himself he'd get around to all these things, and left it at that. His mother always said he'd been a great procrastonator. In fact, that was the first thing she said when he'd left her womb. Maybe she was right.