Sonnet Dare: In Which I Have A David Lynch Moment

At old beaudacious Bard, we used to say
Of those times when what happened got too weird,
One explanation only could hold sway;
One possibility 'mongst those that reared
Their heads could be the truth: that David Lynch
Was hiding in the room, mast'ring the scene.
The man who made Eraserhead to pinch
Our twenty-year-old brains, crafted the keen
Hilarity of that Blue Velvet flick,
And made of Dune a less coherent tale
(Though visually awesome) -- no mean trick --
Than Herbert did -- that David, without fail,
Had taken over the directorship
Of these, our lives, so suddenly a trip.

Huzzah! It's Bekemeyer's Birthday!

The mastermind behind my favorite
Of all homebrewed and funny videos,
An innovative maker who won't quit,
Whose family's fair game. That's how it goes
In Michael Bekemeyer's colony.
His wife writes great romances; he writes, too,
And daughters, lil' Elise and mad Molly
Will surely grow up well and go pursue
Some int'resting careers. As childhoods go
Theirs is well-documented. Just look here
And check out :60 Seconds and you'll know
That Michael's got a family to cheer
Us all. So happy birthday, dearest Mike.
And Let Us Make This Thing just as you like!

In Which Nasal Enemas Are Amply Rewarded

'Tis a mistake to sip a drink and laugh
At once, yet it is hard now to avoid:
When passing time with certain folk my gaffe
Is oft repeated, till I'm quite destroyed.
Michelle Bekemeyer, I'm looking at you.
E'er since Mister Roboto reared its head,
My nose has passed such fluid volume through
As might just drown me. I may say instead
That it just makes me stronger. Ah, but if
It weren't for this it would not be as hard
To listen to your podcast romance riff
While straight of countenance. So now: en garde!
Be careful what you ask for, silly girl,
Lest I another sonnet-snarf unfurl!