Lois sighed heavily, stepping over a stray blueprint of a giant laser that had floated down from the upstairs hallway. "I'm calling the trash company, Peter. From now on, we are strictly an 8.5x11 family."
"It’s not just a table, Lois! It’s the gateway to my future!" Peter announced, gesturing wildly with a thick black marker. "I am becoming a high-end, independent poster tycoon. I bought five hundred sheets of high-grade cardstock in the elite, super-executive size of 17x11 inches. Regular paper is for chumps and tax auditors, Lois. Real men express their artistic genius in landscape tabloid format."
They ran down to the living room to find Peter pinned to the floor. The massive drafting table had collapsed under the weight of his "masterpiece" attempts, and hundreds of blank 17x11 sheets of paper were scattered across the room like giant, rectangular snowflakes. I Griffin 17x11
Upstairs, Brian was pacing back and forth in Stewie’s room, clutching a stack of the same 17x11 paper.
Stewie didn’t look up from his laser rifle calibration. "Yes, Brian, nothing says 'brilliant literary breakthrough' quite like a dog using massive sheets of paper to draw himself looking out of rainy windows in high resolution. It’s absolutely groundbreaking." Lois sighed heavily, stepping over a stray blueprint
"Oh, incredibly jealous," Stewie deadpanned, finally looking up. "In fact, I’m so inspired by your artistic vision that I’ve decided to use your precious 17x11 canvas for something actually useful."
"You’re just jealous because you lack my artistic vision!" Brian barked. It’s the gateway to my future
Before Brian could respond, a thunderous crash echoed from downstairs, followed by Peter shouting in agony.