The Sneetches on the Nietzsches


write a playful children's story, in the whimsical style of Dr. Seuss, that weaves in the philosophical ideas of Nietzsche. The title of this story is The Sneetches on the Nietzches.



In the blustery bright town of Neener-Neetch Beach
Lived a curious crowd known as Sneetches-on-Nietzsches.
They were not like the Sneetches you may know from before—
These Sneetches were thinkers who thought even more.
They wondered and pondered from morning to night
About willpower, courage, and doing what's right.

They asked giant questions while perched on tall rocks
Or while polishing seashells and sorting their socks.
One young Sneetch—named Zibby—would tiptoe and sigh,
For she carried big questions wherever she'd fly.
"Why am I me?" she whispered. "And who decides how?
Must I follow the crowd? Must I moo like a cow?"

Her classmates just giggled. "Oh Zibby, don't fret!
You think far too much. Have you finished lunch yet?"
But Zibby just blinked and stared up at the sun.
Inside her she felt something wild had begun.
One day an old Nietzch—yes, Nietzch with a "z"—
Came stomping along with a beard to his knee.
He spoke in a thunderous, leonine roar,

"You Sneetches are fine—but you could be much more!"
The Sneetches all froze. "More than what? More than who?"
"More than yesterday's you!" the old Nietzch hollered through.
"You've got power inside you—your power to choose.
Not to follow the flock, or to copy their shoes."

He plopped on the sand and he drew with a stick
A swirly-twirly circle that looped thick and quick.
"This life loops around—yes, it circles right back!
So live it so boldly you'd gladly re-track."

The Sneetches all blinked. "Re-track? Do it twice?
Even the boring parts? That doesn't sound nice."
But Zibby leaned forward. "I think I see how…
We should live in a way we'd live over somehow."
Old Nietzch grinned a grin that was curly and wide.

"You've got it, young Sneetch. You've found strength on the inside.
A true, honest life is a life you create.
Don't wait for the world—don't just sit there and wait."
So Zibby began doing things Zibby loved.
She cartwheeled through tidepools, she danced with the doves.
She wrote tiny poems about starlight and trees

And wore mismatched socks whenever she pleased.
At first other Sneetches would point, stare, and snicker.
But Zibby felt braver, and braver still—quicker.
Her inner voice boomed with a sun-colored glow:
"I choose who I am! I choose where I go!"

Her courage caught on like a spark in dry pine.
Soon Sneetches were making their own way to shine.
One painted umbrellas with spirals of teal,
Another invented a three-wheeled mobile.

They built silly things that made no sense at all—
Wind-whistling hats, and a see-through beach ball.
But each Sneetch felt joy, bright as fireworks' crack.
They'd found their own voices, and none wanted back.
Old Nietzch watched it all with a satisfied grin.

"You're learning the power that bursts from within.
To think for yourselves, not to follow or flinch—
That's what makes life lively," declared the good Nietzch.
And Zibby, who once tiptoed quiet and small,

Felt ten Sneetches tall—maybe twelve after all.
For she'd learned a small truth with a wide-reaching glow:
Your truest bright self is the one you bestow.
So if you should wander past Neener-Neetch Beach,
And chat with the curious Sneetches-on-Nietzsches,

They'll tell you with cheer—and perhaps with a rhyme—
"To shape your own life is a choice every time!"
And if you then ask, "Is this wisdom you preach?"
They'll laugh, flip their fins, and say,
"We're just Sneetches… on Nietzsches… who choose how to be!"



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