How Don’ts

Tutorial videos on how to do things correctly are all over the place.  It’s old hat, Jack.  But what if you need to know how to don’t things in your life?

Well, my friend, I have just the thing!  The always funny Me Dangerbolt has just started a new web series of How Don’ts to graciously share with us the less than ideal ways she has found to handle certain life scenarios.  (>^-‘)>

Check out the first two episodes on getting ready below:

 

 

 

Bene vīvite.

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Word Crimes

As both a copyeditor and long-time Weird Al fan (I’ve seen him live three times – he puts on a fantastic show!), how could I not share his parody of “Blurred Lines”?  (>^-‘)>

If you missed it earlier this week, check it out in all its perfection below.

 

 

Bene scribete.

Bottles

Bunch of bottles

A bottle of anger,
Bottle of stew.
A bottle for me
And a bottle for you.

A bottle of danger,
Bottle of joy.
A bottle to keep,
And then one to destroy.

A bottle of stranger,
Bottle of friend.
A bottle to start
And a bottle to end.

A bottle of languor,
Bottle of time.
And an elephant.
You can’t put everything in a bottle.

 

Bene scribete.

 

Sometimes Bees, Though

Honey Bee

They don’t let you have bees in here

 

There was once a dispassionate bee who flew lazily through the loftiest neighborhood in town in a desperate search of a means to occupy its time.

So it was that when it came upon a tall green townhouse with a cracked-open window, it flew straight in and spied a lone man sitting at his desk.

The bee buzzed quietly, or perhaps quite loudly, up to the man.

“I think I shall sting you,” said the bee, for that sounded rather entertaining.

The man looked over his shoulder, a bored and plastic expression commandeering his countenance, and said, “But then you will die.”  He looked back to his work without another word.

The bee thought about this for a moment.  “Then I shall not sting you.”

The mad nodded without looking back.

The bee, however, with little better to do, buzzed up to the shelves above the man’s desk.  There, it discovered a jar of sugar sitting betwixt a dusty pair of ponderous textbooks.  This was just the sort of thing the bee needed.

Buzzing first in contemplative circles around the jar, the bee then rammed the container until it toppled over, hurtling off the shelf and shattering upon the man’s head, dousing him fully in the grainy white substance.

The man frowned extensively and sat motionless for one hour and one half of one hour.  Finally, he said, “I should have sooner you stung me.  Not because it would have been less unpleasant than being covered in my favorite sugar – for surely it would have not – but because you would have then died, and at this point in time that would please me.”

“However,” replied the bee, “bees cannot speak,” and it flew away forthwith.

 

Bene scribete.