Blinded Following The Blindfolded

Sometimes Words Are Not Enough. There Are Some Circumstances So Utterly Wretched That I Cannot Describe Them In Sentences Or Paragraphs Or Even A Whole Series Of Books.

I Often Can't Remember Which Scenes Are And Aren't In The Final Product, Because I Saw So Many Different Versions Of The Lemony Snicket That I Forget Which Ended Up On The Cutting-room Floor.

Off With You" Is A Phrase Used By People Who Lack The Curtesy To Say Something More Polite, Such As, "if There's Nothing Else You Require I Must Be Going" Or "i'm Sorry But I'm Going To Have To Ask You To Leave, Please" Or Even "excuse Me But I Believe You Have Mistaken My Home For Your Own And My Valuable Belongings For Yours And I Must Ask You To Return The Items In Question To Me And Leave My Home After Untying Me From This Chair, As I'm Unable To Do It Myself, If It's Not Too Much Trouble.

Anyone Who Knew Violet Well Could Tell She Was Thinking Hard, Because Her Long Hair Was Tied Up In A Ribbon To Keep It Out Of Her Eyes. Violet Had A Real Knack For Inventing And Building Strange Devices, So Her Brain Was Often Filled With Images Of Pulleys, Levers, And Gears, And She Never Wanted To Be Distracted By Something As Trivial As Her Hair.

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.