The Story that did not want to be Read

(page 6)

But as fast as the story la-la-la'd, the readers were just as fast, so they kept up and made it to the next page. The story decided to slow way way way down, to move so terribly horribly awfully slowly that the readers would never ever ever make it to the next page.

The readers were moving more slowly than a turtle, more slowly than a sleeping turtle, more slowly than a painting of a sleeping turtle, more slowly than a painting of a sleeping turtle that is so slow that grass is growing on its back, and the grass is growing so slowly that even in the painting the grass is in a painting.

What?

Whoa, whoa, slow down there, partner. Let me explain.

There was a painting of grass, grass that was growing remarkably incredibly fantastically slowly, and that painting was sitting on a marvelously wonderfully astoundingly slow sleeping turtle's back. And everything was so unusually dreadfully painfully slow that the turtle with the painting on its back (I mean the painting of the remarkably incredibly fantastically slow growing grass) was in a painting of its own (I mean a painting of a marvelously wonderfully astoundingly slow sleeping turtle with a painting on its back that shows remarkably incredibly fantastically slow growing grass).

But as slowly as the story moved, the readers never stopped and eventually made it to the place where they turned the page.

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