This Small Little Thing

So I'm up to page 172 in my great, great novel--otherwise known as pieces of paper glued together with pencil scratchings on it.

But how does one reach such a satisfyingly bulky number of pages? Hint to all aspiring writers out there--just add more modifiers, the more dangling the better! Got one? Use another! Got two? Use ONE HUNDRED.

"This small little thing won't fit all of us!"

Better:

"This small little wee size-challenged hop o' my thumb bit o' honey thing..."

Now don't you feel the pages of your novel swelling magnificently?

I mean: don't you feel the pages of your novel swelling largely huge-ishly embiggening into bigness?

Er... partial credit.

In other matters, our intrepid heroes are again confronted with their utter incompetence. "I don't even know how to fly the thing!" (Maybe because it's so wee small little?) And also, in another delightful repetition, Rex turns out to be dead weight. Maybe robots aren't so useful after all? Are you listening, Ray Kurzweil?!?

*singularity crickets*

Next Week: They break down Rex into wee attachments and clean the drapes.