"You’re just jealous because you lack my artistic vision!" Brian barked.
"Dad, I'm pretty sure you just bought the wrong size paper for the printer and didn’t want to admit it," Meg muttered, walking through the room. I Griffin 17x11
"I’m telling you, Stewie, this is the perfect format for my graphic novel," Brian insisted, tapping his paws together. "The 17x11 dimensions allow for a sweeping, cinematic flow that regular comic books simply cannot achieve. It speaks to the vast, existential emptiness of the modern dog." "You’re just jealous because you lack my artistic vision
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. "The 17x11 dimensions allow for a sweeping, cinematic
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."
"Peter, for the third time today, why did you buy a giant table meant for architects?" Lois asked, her hands on her hips as she stared at the massive wooden surface.
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."