"Ok, where to start…right. When your pen broke and you stormed upstairs, Naboo noticed that you were miserable. So, he got something called Inspiration Liquor and put a tiny bit on your pen. He said that it would help you write poetry and then you wouldn't give the shop a negative aura." Vince explained.
Naboo came downstairs holding the pen in the sugar tongs.
"Then," He said, putting the pen down carefully, "That stupid ape hurried past me, making me spill the whole bottle on your pen. An overdose of that stuff causes over-confidence and the person is a danger to themselves. Just as we were trying to think of what to do, you came in and picked up the cursed biro."
"I see. But the pen's alright now." Howard said after a moment.
"It should be. It's over here." Naboo replied, pointing to the pen.
"Thanks." Howard approached the pen. It looked completely normal so he picked it up.
Suddenly, he felt dizzy. He tried to drop the pen, but he couldn't.
"Howard? Howard, are you ok?" Vince asked worriedly.
Howard didn't reply. It seemed that the pen had taken over his actions completely.
"HELP! This pen's still infected!" He shouted inside his head, but no-one could hear him.
"The ritual didn't work!" Naboo realised. "I wonder what went wrong?" He headed towards the stairs.
"NABOO!" Vince screamed, like a banshee. "You can't leave him like this!"
Naboo ignored him. He was too busy trying to think of anything that they'd done wrong in the ritual. Remembering that he didn't know the ritual, he went upstairs to ask the other shamen.
Everything had gone dark. Howard was unsure what was happening. He could hear Vince saying "Howard! What's wrong?" repeatedly but he couldn't answer. There was something stopping him from talking or moving. He felt his consciousness slipping…
Upstairs, Naboo was confused and furious at the same time. He was confused because the ritual was unsuccessful and furious because Dennis, Saboo and Kirk had left without telling him. They were gone when he needed them most. He looked around the flat. There must some way of telling what went wrong. He went to the living room, where they'd performed the ceremony. There, in the middle of the floor, was an old, crumpled piece of parchment. He picked it up. Upon it, in swirly writing, was a poem.
For this curse that I have placed
There is no cure in apparent sight
The only way to heal this blight
Horrendous verse this man must write
Naboo sighed deeply. The curse prevented bad poetry but the only way to cure it was to write awful poetry. There was no clear way to cure it. As he approached the stairs he thought "This is gonna take a Vince Noir miracle."