It isn't cheap, but you manage to wrangle out a patent on your fuel-fuck-food clones. Registered, protected, and ready to roll out to market! All of your life savings are now invested into this, so you've got to score big.
First things, you create a big presentation with clip-art and slides, charts, testimonials, facts, and your predictions for how much money this will generate investors. It takes you a lot longer than you'd originally anticipated to put it all together, as it is an incredibly boring process and you prefer to keep slinking off to the lab to have your way with the clones instead of working.
Eventually you get the work done, and even manage to arrange a few meetings with major U.S. corporations. They seem interested in the prospectus, but want to hear your pitch directly. Ah-ha, but why just pitch an idea to one, when you can just show them all? Make them bid over each other for the rights!
You rent a big conference room at a local motel, have all the potential investors fly in, and prep them for the presentation with a night of wining-and-dining, whoring-and-snorting. Excitement is building, and, inspired by a line of coke, you determine that you know just how you're going to seal the deal.
The next morning, as the group gathers to hear the presentation, you dramatically tear up and throw away all your notes. They didn't come here to hear a plain, dull speech! You're going to give them a full demonstration: a group of your fuck-fuel-food clones are paraded out and you fuck them, wild and free, in front of everyone. It is an orgy of ego, a self-indulgence that no one can take their eyes away from. After you've finished for the third time, you stab your clones to death, carve them into chunks, and offer the bits for the investors to try out themselves.
Most decline the taste test.
This didn't work out as you'd hoped at all. The best offer you get is only five thousand dollars and free pizza once a week for a year. That's fucking not good enough.