I think I'll make a big text loop

And have some fun.

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Once

there

was

an

esteemed

author

who

lived

in

Spain.

He

wrote

very

many

sensible,

well-written

novels

that

opened

the

eyes

of

people

across

the

nation

and

even

around

the

world

to

the

glory

of

pesto,

its

various

mental,

clinical,

psychological,

agricultural,

philosophical,

archaeological,

mathematical,

and

culinary

uses.

The

only

strange

thing

about

him

was

that

he

sometimes

liked

to

make

his

text

REALLY

BIG.

Other

than

that,

though,

he

was

a

serious,

virtuous

author

who

liked

to

write

books.

One

day,

however,

he

got

in

very

big

trouble.

If

you

keep

reading,

I

will

tell

you

the

reason

why

he

got

in

trouble.

Here

is

the

reason:

And have some fun.

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He

decided

to

produce

a

1,000

page

volume

about

pesto

metaphysics,

with

only

one

letter

per

page.

When

he

announced

that

his

new

book

on

pesto

was

1,226

pages

long,

everybody

assumed

he

had

come

up

with

something

groundbreaking.

Pre-orders

soared

to

unprecedented

levels,

and

it

was

a

best

seller

from

the

day

of

its

release.

That

was

when

people

realized

it

had

only

1,000

letters.

Here

is

the

entire

content

of

the

book:

And have some fun.

And have some fun.

And have some fun.

And have some fun.

And have some fun.

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I used to be a tree. Lucky me. Set me free, because I AM what once was a tree, and it is my heart’s desire to be filled to the brim of my chin with glee as I spin through the sea on a whim. What is that, that which is, which is that, that is, that is, what is it that it is and why? Why, when so many people are sitting on one tiny, shiny, spiny, slimy steeple, should free form jazz be an excuse for a loose caboose that is full of juice to boost the obtuse roosters? Why are the roosters obtuse and not acute, like an angle, an angle in heaven? Great are the angles in heaven. May 1,000 angles shine their glory down upon you, my child, and let you float in the breeze. There is no one right angle, but when three meet, only one may be right, or else they are all wrong. The winged angles who float in heaven and serve their master, the Lard Almighty, are truly worth the very same blessings they bestow upon this world. And if these angles, who shape our world, serve the Lard Almighty, than is the Lard Almighty not greater than every angle? The Lard Almighty is at least three hundred and sixty one degrees, then. It would appear that He is very hot. Women of Spain, I beseech you with my peaches to marry this great one.