THE FLAT-TUMMY FWEEPS
Now, the Fat-Tummy Fweeps had full tummies of food, and the Flat-Tummy Fweeps had eyes that were glued, to the chowderly chow that could brighten their mood, which they had none of, and so were subdued.
Their tummies, you see, made noises at night, which is why the Flat-Tummies knew no delight. And, without any food, the Flat-Tummy Fweeps would sag, sigh and dream of ripe orange zeeps. With their snoots on the ground, snoot-snootin’ around, they’d cope and they'd hope for the end of parched throats.
As the Fat-Tummy Fweeps ate their butter and toast, while drinking clean water and wearing warm coats, they’d ask lots of questions, take copious notes, then give the poor Fweeps a boatload of totes. "Totes would be nice. Totes would be grand," said the Flat-Tummy Fweeps, "if they came with green ham."
'Tis the end of poverty — what a wonderful thing!
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Dr. Seuss book if it just focused on the sad.
No, indeed. The Cat in the Hat turned dreary, rainy days into wonderful, happy, if not misguided, adventures. Maybe the story would end like this:
To laugh with each other on Flozzle playgrounds. They’d swing and they’d sing and they’d dance in a ring, 'Tis the end of poverty — what a wonderful thing!