Manfred the sloth is the slow one.
“I’m the slow one!” He screams from the couch cushions.
With deep-set and dark ringed eyes, he flops down on the cheap piece of outdoor furniture. No that’s not fair, it’s a reasonably priced piece of furniture. Not cheap. And you wouldn’t want to spend a whole bag of money on something that’s going to stand alone outside for half the year. It simply wouldn’t do. And so, spending a reasonable amount of money does seem to be most reasonable. I would say at least.
But yes, he flops down.
Heat is radiating from the top left. Fur and skin that adorns Manfred’s cranium is heating. Slowly being brought to the simmer. His head is warming. A type of globular warming. The blood clots in Manfred’s veins are heating.
Manfred is having a stroke. Body is seizing. Sloth body lost, no longer under control. Sloths aren’t meant to have strokes?! That’s not what you hear about them, not at all. One expects to keep hearing those fanciful tales about moss growing in their fur and their mistaking their own limbs for tree limbs, thus fatally falling to the forest floor below where they were just recently seated. But no. Manfred is a sloth, and he is sitting on an outdoor couch, not in the high branches of a tree that is part of a forest collective. Manfred is also having a stroke, no matter how much it does seem to be going against the norm.
He also needs a haircut.
Manfred flails around a while (approximately 2 minutes 45 seconds) and then he comes to rest with his mouth hanging open, and a generous portion of saliva issuing forth. This is not what you want to hear about a sloth. Really, go on and rather tell us about how slowly he moves and how cute he loo-NO! No I am sorry to shout, but you need to hear this. Manfred is having a stroke and is probably about to pass away and no amount of mental gymnastics will make that statement any less true. Just accept that so we can move on after Manfred is gone.
Ok…
Manfred dies. His death rates averagely on the pain metre. The sloth has passed away.