Me: Hey, wake up. We need to make a Pinewood Derby car from a block of wood that won't embarrass us in front of the other dads.
Artisan: So, let me get this straight -- you've got a block of wood and you want a car.
Me: Well, yes. That's the basic idea.
Artisan: Okay, so put the wheels on it and let your kid paint it. Why do you have to bother me with these things?
Me: Ah, well... I was hoping for a bit more than a boxcar. You know, shape the wood, sand it, paint it all fancy, put graphite on the wheels to make it fast -- that sort of a thing.
Artisan: It sounds like you know what you're doing, so I'm going back to sleep now.
Me: No no no. I have an idea of what needs to be done, but if I try to do this myself It'll be a complete disaster. You've gotta help me.
Artisan: And you think I'll do a better job?
Me: Yes. Absolutely. I mean, you are the inner artisan.
Artisan: Yes, but I'm inside you.
Me: What's that supposed to mean?
Artisan: Let me put it this way, I can only be as good as the raw material with which I have to work.
Me: Hey! Are you comparing me to raw material?!
Artisan: Sorry, you're right of course. That is unfair to raw materials everywhere. I mean, at least they can eventually produce a useful product.
Artisan: The truth hurts. Don't blame me.
Me: Shut up and go back to sleep.
Artisan: No problem. I never really woke up anyway -- you see I'm just a figment of your imagination...
Sorry kid, I think you're pretty much on your own.