The writers sat in a room trying to figure out the plot for the next Final Destination movie.
One sat playing with his pen, doodling.
"Maybe we won't make it about teenagers?"
However, the others just shook their heads.
"What if one just slips on a banana skin?" mused one of the writers.
"I have it! Oh my God, I have it! I have the most brilliant idea for the next one!!" declared another writer.
"What?" asked the other writers.
However, just as he was about to utter the idea, the spinning blade from an overhead fan broke loose and decapitated him.
The door to the conference room then flew open and the hooded figure of death stood in the doorway, holding a sickle.
He pointed at the writers. "NO MORE FINAL DESTINATIONS!"
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