“What your parents didn’t tell you about pulling an all-nighter? It might just ease depression
for several days. At least, that’s what researchers found happened to mice in a study published in
the journal Neuron Thursday.”
—NPR
The Crown’s creator, Peter Morgan, said: “Diana’s appearance for a tender post-mortem
conversation with Charles is a narrative device, common enough in film, not a haunting. …
[Earlier this year, executive producer Suzanne Mackie said:] ‘The show might be big and noisy,
but we’re not. We’re thoughtful people and we’re sensitive people.’”
—The Daily Beast
A writer sensitive and nice
(Forgive a moment’s vaunting)
Employs a narrative device
And not some thoughtless haunting.
The Globe is noisy; I am not
(I hate appearing boastful),
And thus my Ex-King-Hamlet plot
Is tender, never ghostful.
“Archaeologists Discover Electoral Campaign Inscription Inside Pompeii House:
The Latin text reads, in part: ‘I beseech you to make Aulus Rustius [Verus] a true aedile,
worthy of the state’ … Researchers aren’t sure what happened to Verus when Mount Vesuvius erupted
in 79 C.E. and buried Pompeii and several surrounding towns in volcanic rock and ash. However, because
he later [gained a higher office], they suspect he won the election for aedile referenced in the inscription.”
—Smithsonian Magazine
Vote for Aulus Rustius Verus,
Aedile worthy of the state!
We’re divided—he’ll repair us!
Get in line and do not wait!
So implored an old graffito,
Scratched on some Pompeian wall.
Like a just-revived mosquito,
It’s provocative though small.
Vote for Aulus Rustius Verus!
Seems Pompeii did as bid;
Fate, however, chose to spare us
News of what he later did.
As the air became volcanic—
Ashy, red, and very hot—
Did he try to calm the panic?
Maybe yes and maybe not;
No one knows. But this I’m sure of:
Ancient stumpers rule once more,
So this blurb we just need more of: Vote for Verus—’24!
I keep my mind as active as I can:
I play guitar an hour every day;
I read a lot; I write. It’s how I plan
To keep the damn senility at bay.
And if I get to pensionable age,
And none of these precautions have been shirked,
And still I’m keen and want to earn a wage,
Then that’ll prove that none of it has worked.
“Pittsburgh is among the best cities in the United States to be a vampire…
The report looked for blood centers, vampire-friendly dwellings like homes with
basements, and warm bodies.”
—CBS
A vampire city? For me, that’s a dud.
I go to bed early and can’t stomach blood.
Those werewolves of London? I’m more into cats.
Besides, have you seen what they’re charging for flats?
A mummy-filled town is where I’d rather go,
With long winter months under mountains of snow.
I’d keep to myself in the Upper Midwest,
And curse anyone interrupting my rest!
“Abet and Aid Punsters Day is celebrated on November 8 every year… Puns have a long history…
for example, the Roman playwright Plautus was famous for his puns and word games.”
—National Today
Cunningly, punningly, Plautus the dramatist,
roundly applauded by
literate nerds,
seriocomically
offers a reader the
words in his plays and the
plays in his words.
“Police: Live cluster bomblet, ammunition found with donation
at southeastern Wisconsin thrift store”
—AP
Could a bomb in a Goodwill donation
Send their customers running amok?
No, I’d say this unique situation
Would have buyers embracing their luck.
It’s with savvy they’d see that this merch is
One heck of a deal to be struck,
‘Cuz the shoppers who jump at this purchase
Would be getting a bang for their buck.
“Britain’s ‘loneliest sheep’ stranded on Scottish cliff for two years”
—Independent
Lest you become the loneliest of sheep On British soil, marooned along a beach, Not able to ascend back up the steep Escarpment you slid down, beyond help’s reach, Lamenting all the lambs you could have had If you had met another on the hill Equipped with what it takes to be a dad, Soliciting canoes for help until The beach runs out and makes you ewe-turn, as Slim hopes of rescue fade, and you’re forlorn … Hear my advice: Don’t be the sheep who has Escaped the shears but rues that she’s unshorn. Ewe, mimic not who’s pining for her flock— Penned in between a hard place and a rock!
“Why are whales throwing seaweed on their heads?”
—BBC
We all like fancy dress at Halloween:
We try the spooky costumes on for size,
Or make one from a sewing magazine,
And hope that our endeavors win a prize.
And whales are just as sociable as us:
They want to get dressed up and be a hit,
But when you’re twice as hefty as a bus,
It’s hard to find a fright wig that’ll fit.
“Millennium Bridge workers hang straw bales after ancient bylaw triggered
Repairs to footbridge mean straw must be dangled to warn oncoming shipping
of work going on beneath”
—The Guardian
To mend this web of tempered steel ignites an ancient law:
It first must be bedecked with bales of cautionary straw.
Oncoming shipping duly warned, discussions now begin:
Exactly which Millennium does London think it’s in?
The odds are good John Eastman‘s getting moody,
Since things look really bad for him and Rudy.
Their fake elector scheme is now on trial,
With Ken and Jenna bound to flip in style:
If “Inmate [X]” is not to be their greeting,
They’ll have to spill the beans about that meeting.
The Kraken was released but had no sting,
So now you’d best believe these birds will sing!