A turtle wanted a pickle, but he was to fickle. A butterfly could distract his pondering eye. Till one day he was determined, never before had he been more certain. He never strayed from his path, it was as if he had unleashed all his wrath. The turtle had finally reached the pickle, only to realize he was more fickle than he ever imagined. There laid his wife, void of any life. His mind distracted him, from a tragedy so grim. He laid next to the pickle down low, only to realize pickles blow. He remembered his wife had not fallen ill, he had murdered her with a quill. He wanted pizza while she brought him a pickle instead, little did she know this would make her drop dead.
The turtle lived happily ever after. Except his wife. Dat bitch is dead.