Bye Bye Birdie.

I knew I was f*cked when I saw red. "When I die, don't let me vote democrat." Back in May of 2020, [I paid $8,600 for a 1989 Range Rover Classic]( that, until this past weekend, I would call one of (if not the) best purchases of my life. She's far from perfect. She's riddled with more dings than a WWII tank. Her seats are so badly cracked and gouged they could put the Grand Canyon out of business. And, every electronic feature in her that was once upon a time "top of the line" has practically lost any and all function. Not to mention, when it rains beyond a drizzle, the inside of her weeps the cold rain down onto her inhabitants as if they're the shoulders comforting her approaching death. Logically speaking, the purchase made absolutely no sense. At 187,000 miles, I knew I wouldn't have her long; that I would have to, very likely, part with her the moment I began falling in love with her. But, I'm a sucker for vintage anything. And, any vintage lover can agree that a 1989 Range Rover Classic is vintage everything. The novelist Tom Robbins put this affection perfectly in his gorgeous book [Still Life With Woodpecke](... “As any car freak will tell you, the old models are the most beautiful, even if they aren’t the most efficient. People who sacrifice beauty for efficiency get what they deserve.” This past Friday, I was gunning down the interstate at 70 mph, heading back home to Southern Indiana to watch one of my best friends marry the love of his life. Just outside Hopkinsville, Kentucky, right at the halfway mark between Nashville, Tennessee and Evansville, Indiana, I heard a large thunderous crash rip beneath my center console followed by another crash and another and another. June, my dog, was staring down at the floorboard as if some gargantuan groundhog was about to breach, as I looked in the rearview mirror to find smoke billowing behind me like a chimney (or a "Chimley" as my grandfather would say it). I was forced to pull over to the side of the road, get out and pretend to know what the hell I was looking for. I took a knee and saw a large, quickly growing puddle of reddish liquid spewing out and onto the asphalt and it was here that I knew I was fucked. An hour and a half later, my Range Rover was high on the back of a tow truck, as June was sandwiched between and myself and the driver: a 75-year-old retired mechanic named AJ. To best describe the kind of man AJ was, about 2-3 minutes into our ride he, completely unwarranted, turned to me and said... "When I die, don't let me vote Democrat." As I looked out the front window, over the hood of his truck, watching the dashes in the road zip by as if they had someplace to be, I knew that AJ was destined to be the topic of the following week's [Sticky Notes](. I'm sure as hell not political (I like democrats and I like republicans and I like everyone in-between), but it takes a rather peculiar individual to say something like the above line to not only a complete stranger but a paying customer. I had questions and lots of them, one of which was how somebody could vote democrat (or anything for that matter) if they were dead and buried in the ground. I reframed from asking the question scared AJ would find offense and instead I began badgering him with a series of questions –– many of which I had to repeat three and four times due to his poor hearing –– in hopes to get some sort of glimpse inside who AJ was. Over the next hour and a half, I learned that AJ repaired helicopters in Vietnam and that after returning from Vietnam he got the idea of starting a Towing Company. I learned that AJ lost his wife of four decades six years ago and his son one year ago. When I told AJ I was sorry, he just shook his head and looked out the window for a while and then he pet June on her back because she was a bit skeptical of him and she wouldn't let him pet her face. It was during this petting that I found out AJ was a dog person and that the reason he agreed to a 3-hour tow at 7 p.m. on a Friday night was because I had a dog with me and because he loved dog people. I also learned that AJ believes that if more people treated one another like dogs treat people the world would be an okay place to be (as long as the dogs were, of course, didn't vote Democrat). But, what I learned most from AJ, and this is the whole point of me writing this piece, so listen the up, please... At some point during our ride, AJ got a call from another one of his drivers about a pissed-off customer. She had totaled her car, needed a tow and, allegedly, during the tow, there was some slight damage done to the bumper. The driver called AJ asking him what he should do. To which AJ replied, "Do whatever you think is best... just make sure she's happy. It's not all about money. " After her got off the phone he said (more to himself than to me), "Insurance companies tell me all the damn time I'm not charging enough for my tows. I tell them so what... I'm just trying to make a living. I'm not trying to get rich. I'm just trying to make a living." All that to say, I'm fairly certain that the transmission in my range rover threw a rod, which to repair, might be the same cost of the range rover itself. Robbins said that, "... People who sacrifice beauty for efficiency get what they deserve.” And, I agree with him. However, I would argue that people who sacrifice efficiency for beauty probably get what they deserve, too. But, digress. By [Cole Schafer](. P.S. The newsletter doesn't end here... keep scrolling. [For more stories like these...]( Want to write copy that reads like a blow job feels...? Fuck no this isn't an infomercial. This isn't sham-fucking-wow. Who do you think I am? This is [How to write words that sell like a Florida Snow Cone Vendor on the hottest day of the year]( and, to tell you the truth, I don't give a damn whether you buy it or not. I will, however, give you the facts. The facts are... 1. It's moved 2,305 units to date. 2. It's been purchased by CMOs and entrepreneurs and marketing directors and freelancers and graphic designers and other copywriters and snow cone vendors who've wanted to learn how to write copy that reads like a blow job feels. 3. It costs $97 in cold hard cash that you can cough up with your credit card, which is kind of the anthesis of cold hard cash and is strange when you really start to think about the fact that we really don't even physically touch the money we make anymore and instead just see it in the form of numbers on a glowing screen and so we are now allowing points, essentially, to dominate our happiness and our meaning; points versus something tangible like physical dollars... at least those who thought money was everything in the 1970s could wad it up and hug a rubber band around it... but now, everything is just points and all that matters is whether or not you have enough points at the end of each month to pay off your credit card and your premium Porn Hub subscription and your daughter's expensive tutor that's teaching them that third and fourth language that, let's face it, they will probably never use because by the time they're of age there will be software that allows them to understand all languages... Sorry for the rant, let's end and you just give me your points at the big black button down below. [Insert points here.]( A quick 264-word writing lesson from the creator of Dilbert. Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, once gave the following advice to those wanting to become better writers... *Scott Adams is typing now* I went from being a bad writer to a good writer after taking a one-day course in “business writing.” I couldn’t believe how simple it was. I’ll tell you the main tricks here so you don’t have to waste a day in class. Business writing is about clarity and persuasion. The main technique is keeping things simple. Simple writing is persuasive. A good argument in five sentences will sway more people than a brilliant argument in a hundred sentences. Don’t fight it. Simple means getting rid of extra words. Don’t write, “He was very happy” when you can write “He was happy.” You think the word “very” adds something. It doesn’t. Prune your sentences. Humor writing is a lot like business writing. It needs to be simple. The main difference is in the choice of words. For humor, don’t say “drink” when you can say “swill.” Your first sentence needs to grab the reader. Go back and read my first sentence to this post. I rewrote it a dozen times. It makes you curious. That’s the key. Write short sentences. Avoid putting multiple thoughts in one sentence. Readers aren’t as smart as you’d think. Learn how brains organize ideas. Readers comprehend “the boy hit the ball” quicker than “the ball was hit by the boy.” Both sentences mean the same, but it’s easier to imagine the object (the boy) before the action (the hitting). All brains work that way. (Notice I didn’t say, “That is the way all brains work”?) That’s it. You just learned 80% of the rules of good writing. You’re welcome. " [Don't put me out of business, Adams.]( I want to steal Leonard Cohen's writing routine. There was a brief stint at the beginning of Cohen’s career where he was living on the Greek island of Hydra. Some might argue this was the happiest time in the rather melancholic writer’s life. He was head over heels in love with Marianne Ihlen at the time –– a muse that inspired many of his greatest works –– and the island itself was a writer’s paradise, being both equal parts cheap and gorgeous. Sylvie Simmons, the writer behind Leonard Cohen’s biography [I’m your man: the life of Leonard Cohen]( writes of his writing routine on the island; a writing routine that will leave you phoning a travel agent… “ He thrived in the Mediterranean climate. Every morning he would rise with the sun, just as the local workmen did, and start his work. After a few hours’ writing, he would walk down the narrow, winding streets, a towel flung over one shoulder, to swim in the sea. While the sun dried his hair, he walked to the market to buy fresh fruit and vegetables and climbed back up the hill. It was cool inside the old house. He would sit wiring at George and Charmian’s wooden table until it was too dark to see by the kerosene lamps and candles. At night he walked back again to the port, where there was always someone to talk to. “ What a way to live. What a way to write. But, I digress. [Swim good; write well.]( P.S. If this newsletter made you weak in the knees, you can share it with the world by selecting one of the four icons down below... [Send it.]( [Send it.]( [Tweet it.]( [Tweet it.]( [Share it.]( [Share it.]( [Post it.]( [Post it.]( Copyright © 2021 Honey Copy, All rights reserved. A while back you opted into a weekly email called "Sticky Notes". Remember? If not, you can always unsubscribe below... and risk breaking this writer's heart. Our mailing address is: Honey Copy 3116 N. Central Park Unit #1Chicago, IL 60618 [Add us to your address book]( Want to change how you receive these emails? You can [update your preferences]( or [unsubscribe from this list](.