There once was a wee lad by the name of PLS. One day he was skipping through the forest of science when he came upon a house in the middle of the woods. He knocked but no one was home. Being naive to the frightening number of guns owned in the US, he let himself in and made himself at home.
As he looked around this seemingly familiar home, he realized that there were three of everything, but of varying sizes. Displayed prominently over the fireplace was a large picture of three grant proposals. "Oh." he thought. "These proposals must live here." The pictured showed one proposal that was big and mostly complete, with just a few parts needing editing. The second proposal had a lot of its parts, but needed some significant writing to fill in the holes. The littlest proposal was juuuuust getting started and merely the remnants of a previously gutted proposal.
PLS walked over to the table and saw three objectives sections. The first one was big and robust. It had obviously been thought out and worded carefully. The second one had all the parts, but needed some work, and the poor third one was a mere skeleton of a real objectives section. The littlest one was juuuuust getting started and required some serious attention.
On the counter by the sink were three preliminary data sections. In contrast to the objectives sections, all three of these looked pretty strong, but all three had many new pieces that were lumped together in a range of cohesiveness, from incoherent to reasonably accessible. Provided a decoder ring, one could juuuuust make out how they made the proposal better.
PLS walked up stairs and found three beds, each with methods and expected outcomes sections strewn across them. The first was too big and rambled on for pages and pages. The second one was the right length, but needed some serious editing, but the third one was juuuuuust a mess.
At this point PLS was tired. He curled up into the big bed (because for a wee lad he was freakishly large) and drifted off to sleep for a few minutes before being woken up by the yells of a 2.5 year old, saying "Daddy! I have to pee! Now! Pee pee coming out!"