It was a typical Monday morning, and the conference room was abuzz with the collective apathy of the Meeting Prophets.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unflattering glow on the sea of blank stares, each face a picture of utter disinterest.
The air was thick with the weight of unmet expectations, as if the very fabric of reality itself was suffocating under the crushing burden of another meeting.
The Snoozleberry, a mystical entity rumored to grant the gift of infinite procrastination, hung in the corner, its presence a constant reminder of all that could be.
And so, the Meeting Prophets gathered, their collective apathy a palpable force, a challenge to even the most stalwart of productivity.
Will they ever find the will to act? Only time (and the Snoozleberry) will tell.