O, that this too too solid fedora would impress, thaw and resolve itself into itself worn by brony alike! Or that the everlasting had not fix'd his aethism against self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, seem to me all the girls of this world that date jerks! Fie on't, ah fie, 'tis an unweeded garden, that grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature posesses it merely as hatwear. That it should come to this! But two months dead, nay not so much, not two, so excellent a hat, that was, to this world to a man, so loving to my mother that he might not beteem the basement I swell within, to not act too roughly. Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, As if the increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on, and yet within a month - Let me think not on't; frailty, thy name is brony - A little month, or ere these shoes were plaid with which she followed my poor father's body Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she - O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer - married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father than I to Rainbow Dash. Within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears had left the flushing in her gall'd eyes, she married a jerk. Oh most wicked speed, to post with such dexterity to religious beliefs! It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

and whats the deal with bees