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Title: We quit teaching cursive and it shows.
Last week, I asked my seven-year-old niece to write a thank-you note for her birthday gifts. She grabbed a pen with the enthusiasm of an aspiring artist. But when she handed it to me, it looked more like an ancient hieroglyphic manuscript than a card. “Thanks,” written in sprawling, shaky letters, looked as though it had weathered an earthquake mid-sentence.
I had to squint and guess her message, piecing together the jumbled loops and lines like some sort of bizarre word puzzle. The exclamation point was a triumphant zigzag that veered off the paper like a confused worm. It made me chuckle, realizing that in a world obsessed with screens and keyboards, we’ve created little humans who view cursive as an exotic foreign language. My niece’s masterpiece is less a toddler’s thank-you card and more an avant-garde art exhibit. Who knew abandoning cursive would make children’s handwriting look like alien code?
J
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenior?”
P
Twas the wind and nothing more
T
Nevermore Lenior.
R
Len ion?
P
That’s how I read it too.. Lenion??
A
Negatively charged Len. The driver’s name is Lenny and is a known pessimist.
C
That must be the singular for lemonade powder. A single grain of lemonade powder is a lem ion.
A
Eat my shorts
T
TAKE THY BEAK, FROM OUT MY HEART AND TAKE THY FORM, FROM OFF. MY. DOOR.
O
Quoth the raven…
W
“Eat my shorts…?”
C
Shhh! Bart, he’s establishing mood.
S
Don’t have a crow, man!
H
Maybe people were just easier to scare back then .
J
You know what’s scarier than nothing? Anything!
M
Never more
Z
Probably my favorite thing on the whole internet is the product review of Tuscan whole milk on Amazon by “Edgar” Make this your only stock and store Once upon a mid-day sunny, while I savored Nuts ’N Honey, With my Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 gal, 128 fl. oz., I swore As I went on with my lapping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the icebox door. “Bad condenser, that,” I muttered, “vibrating the icebox door— Only this, and nothing more.” Not to sound like a complainer, but with an inept half-gainer I provoked my bowl to tip and spill its contents on the floor. Stupefied, I came to muddle over that increasing puddle, Burgeoning deluge of that which I at present do adore— Snowy Tuscan wholesomeness exclusively produced offshore— Purg’ed here forevermore. And the pool so white and silky filled me with a sense of milky Ardor of the type fantastic of a loss not known before, So that now, to still the throbbing of my heart, while gently sobbing, I retreated, heading straightway for the tempting icebox door— Heedless of that pitter-patter tapping at the icebox door— I resolved to have some more. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “This,” said I, “requires an extra dram of milk, my favorite pour.” To the icebox I aspired, motivated to admire How its avocado pigment complemented my decor. Then I grasped its woodgrain handle—here I opened wide the door— Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams of Tuscans I had known before. But the light inside was broken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only words there spoken were my whispered words, “No more!” Coke and beer, some ketchup I set eyes on, and an apple core— Merely this and nothing more. Back toward the table turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore— ’Tis the wind and nothing more!” From the window came a stirring, then, with an incessant purring, Inside stepped a kitten; mannerlessly did she me ignore. Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she; But, with mien of lord or lady, withdrew to my dining floor— Pounced upon the pool of Tuscan spreading o’er my dining floor— Licked, and lapped, and supped some more. Then this tiny cat beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grand enthusiasm of the countenance she wore, Toward the mess she showed no pity, ’til I said, “Well, hello, kitty!” Sought she me with pretty eyes that seemed to open some rapport. So I pleaded, “Tell me, tell me what it is that you implore!” Quoth the kitten, “Get some more.”
H
I miss the days of reviews like this. My favorites were Tuscan whole milk and the sugar free gummy bears.
D
[Sugar free gummy bears are no joke.](https://youtu.be/m–6ifZXy5k?si=zgtL3lEMDGjH38IJ) Lol Edit: added link
P
Zero hang time!
S
Amen. Before they started weeding out the nuggets with a scorched earth mentality, I’d spend hours poring over hilarious, well written satire and saucy product reviews. God damn this timeline
A
I could read the Pearson airport Haribo review every day and it would still be funny.
H
I think my favorite was the Tuscan Whole Milk review set to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Kubla Khan.
N
First copy pasta of 2026 sighted
W
The best part is that he’s crying over spilled milk
G
I want to read this at a poetry slam in the late 90s
S
I want to read this at a poetry slam now
S
Saving for later
S
Do not spill its contents on the floor
M
This is amazing , thank you
K
That’s art. 👍👍
S
#Lenion*
A
Len 2026 ion*
U
Les oignons.
M
Was exactly where my mind went first. Back into my chamber turning All my soul within me burning Soon again there came a tapping, something louder than before
L
Surely, said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice, Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore, Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore, ‘Tis the wind and nothing more.” I love his works so much.
S
EAP would dominate a rap battle.
L
Fuuuuuccckkk yes he would.
B
>Was exactly where my mind went first. Give credit where it’s due. The Simpsons introduced many a kid to Poe with The Raven in one of the early Treehouse of Horrors
P
Lenior… that’s what those who repeat senior year call themselves
T
We called those super seniors and they wore hero capes when they crossed the stage at graduations. My youngest brother says they were trying to change it to senior + but people kept sneaking the capes into graduation so the admin staff gave up. Lol
N
HA! That’s all I saw as well, and I read it Christopher Lee’s voice 😀
T
James Earl Jones for me, but yeah. Wonderfully done, u/jojo_calavera
R
From the Simpsons’ Halloween episode!
A
Take thy beak from out thy heart and take thy form from off my door.
D
Why you little…
C
Vincent Price for me
R
Since it seems there’s a lot of folks here who like “The Raven,” check out the Alan Parsons Project’s debut album — an homage to Edgar Allan Poe, it’s called Tales of Mystery and Imagination and was released in 1976. One of the best cuts is [The Raven](https://youtu.be/N3fHbjOsSaE?si=lQQ5nwsnEdbH5umz). The Alan Parsons Project was one of the first groups to use the vocoder, which is featured here. More info on the [song](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Raven_(song)) and the [album](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tales_of_Mystery_and_Imagination_(Alan_Parsons_Project_album)).
T
Open na nor.
I
I am a retired English teacher whose son, had he been a girl instead, would have been named Lenore after this very poem. Poe was always my favorite.
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