Anybody else write just like david blaine?

A magician, juggling five balls in the air. <br>A wise old man, on the porch of a shanty. He watches the show, puffing on his wooden pipe. <br>It’s dark, stormy, in the middle of the desert. A tumbleweed comes from stage left, and the old man whips it away using his cane. He pants. There's a large straw on his back, which he uses to drink water, which he then spits up. Suddenly, he spits fire. The balls are always in the air, spinning. The fire crackles loud, and he laughs maniacally, as the balls start to twirl in midair of their own accord. <br><br>Now each of the five balls can dance jive, lindy hop, salsa, rumba, and flamenco. The old man does nothing. He’s dead in the sand, somewhere. The fire's gone, too. Nothing’s there. Until a great storm brews. A tornado forms, and goes away, leaving the words "david blaine" scratched into the sand. The balls stop spinning, and land in a neat little pile next to the words. Then, the message disappears. The balls go flying up into the sky. The story forms itself into a neat little ball in my mind, and the only thing remaining is this.