Wallace looked over the whole town for some Strongium, but he failed to find some.

"What are you looking for, Mr. Wallace?"

Then he noticed that he was standing outside the newsagents and Mrs Gabberley was behind the counter.

"Hi, Mrs. Gabberley," Wallace said. "I'm looking for – um, uh – You know, I've completely forgotten what I'm looking for." Then he looked around the place to see if he could find what it was that he had forgotten what he was looking for, but he failed again. Then he found two plants on the window ledge above the newsagents. "Wow! What beautiful flowers you have."

"Oh, my purple pansies and my yellow violas," Mrs. Gabberley said. "Yeah, they're gorgeous, aren't they?"

"Just a bunch of (bleep) useless weeds, if you ask me!" her husband Mr. Gabberley shouted through his bedroom window.

"And no one asked you, you pain in the (bleep) balls!" Mrs. Gabberley shouted.

"Like you never asked me about anything at all!" Then Mr. Gabberley slammed his bedroom window down, knocking the yellow violas down to the pavement, smashing the pot.

"Now, look what you've done, you stupid arsehole!" Then Mrs. Gabberley went out of the newsagents and looked at the window. "And open that window when I'm screaming at the top of my lungs at you!"

"Fine!" shouted Mr. Gabberley, opening his window again. "But only to prove to you that your insults don't get to me at all!"

"Is that so?"

"Damn right, it is so! I can deflect them!"

"Oh, do you have to use a lightsaber?" Wallace asked.

"A lightsaber?" Mr. Gabberley snapped. "What the hell are you on about now?"

"I mean, do you use a lightsaber to deflect your wife's insults like how the Jedi use their lightsabers to deflect their enemies' laser bolts?"

"You and your useless nerd friends, Winnie!" Mr. Gabberley yelled. "Why can't you find any better friends?"

"Boy, that bastard!" Mrs. Gabberley snapped. "He makes my blood boil like a kettle."

"If only there was something we could do to get back at him, right, Mrs. Gabberley?" Wallace said.

"That's it!" Mrs. Gabberley cried. "He's harsh with me, so I'll be harsh at him back."

"How?" Wallace asked.

"I'll say words to hurt him," Mrs. Gabberley said. "The only problem is I don't know which words to use. Can you help me out, Wallace?"

"Well, okay."

"Great. Let's start with a verb. An action word. Any ideas, Wallace?"

Wallace looked for words on the newspapers, magazines and sweets.

"How about 'Flush'?" Wallace asked, looking at the word on a 'Toilet Geek' magazine.

"Good one," Mrs. Gabberley said. "Next, a thing."

Wallace looked at the newspapers, magazines and sweets for more words and the best he could come up with was 'Turd' from a 'Rude Words' magazine.

"Great!" Mrs. Gabberley cried happily, as she wrote it down. "Next, a descriptive word."

Wallace looked around all over the newsagents and could only find the word 'Stinky' from 'Stinking Bishop' from a cheese magazine, which impressed Mrs. Gabberley.

"And now another thing or a person or an animal or a creature or something like that," she said.

Wallace looked around the newsagents again and all he could see was from the Muppets on a TV magazine. "How about Muppet, Mrs. Gabberley?"

"Great, Wallace!" After she wrote that down, she went out of the newsagents and looked at the window above it. "Hey, you!" she yelled at her husband.

"What is it now?" Mr. Gabberley demanded.

"Go flush… a turd… you stinky… Muppet!" Mrs. Gabberley yelled.

Mr. Gabberley laughed rudely. "Is that really the very best you got? You'll have to better than that!"

Defeated, Mrs. Gabberley returned to the Newsagents. "We'll have to try something better than that, Wallace."

"Oh, dear," Wallace said. "This word game is way harder than Shakespeare trying to write his next massive hit."

One day in his room, William Shakespeare was sitting at his desk, trying to write his next play. He wrote a lot of words down, but every time he read them to check if they would work, he was just not impressed with his work and just scrunched them up into paper balls and threw them onto the fire.

He sighed. "So many ideas and so little time to get everything perfect and so many more things to do." Then he rose from his chair and started to dance as he sang the song, Hard To Be The Bard. "It's hard. It's hard. It's really, really hard. So very, very hard. I make it look easy but, honey, believe me, it's hard. It's hard. It's so incredibly hard. So inconceivably, unbelievably hard. It's hard to be the bard, baby."

"Wallace!"

Wallace woke up from his dream and turned to face Mrs. Gabberley again

"When you're finished thinking of It's Hard to Be The Bard from Something Rotten: A Musical instead of creating your own imagination of Shakespeare, I need your help, Wallace," she said. "Give me a verb."

Wallace looked at the newspapers and magazines. He saw one newspaper with the front page about a female getting raped. "How about 'rape'?" he suggested.

"'Rape'! That's a good one, Wallace," Mrs. Gabberley said, as she wrote it down. "Now, an object."

Wallace looked at the newspapers and magazines again. He saw another newspaper with the front page about someone winning a sandcastle competition. "How about 'a sandcastle'?"

"A sandcastle! Brilliant!" Mrs. Gabberley laughed wickedly. "Now, a descriptive word."

Wallace looked at the newspapers and the magazines again.

"How about 'mild'? Wallace suggested, from seeing the word from a temperature magazine.

"Great!" Mrs. Gabberley cried happily, writing it down. "Now, finally but certainly not least, another thing or a person or an animal."

Wallace looked around and suggested 'Gentlemen' from a magazine about white male supremacy.

"Works for me," Mrs. Gabberley said. Then she left her stall and went to the window. "Hey, you!"

"What is it now?" Mr. Gabberley yelled back.

"Go… rape… a sandcastle… you… mild… gentleman!" Mrs. Gabberley yelled.

"Hey, you really do know how to wound a guy, Winnie!" Mr. Gabberley snapped. Then he angrily slammed his bedroom window down, knocking the purple pansies down.

Even though the pot carrying the pansies was smashed, the pansies were still okay. And Mrs. Gabberley felt very good about that she emotionally wounded her husband.

"Thank you for your help, Wallace," Mrs. Gabberley said. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Well, I could use some flowers, Mrs, Gabberley," Wallace said.

"Well, you have these flowers," Mrs. Gabberley said. "Take whatever you want."

"Thanks, Mrs. Gabberley," Wallace said, taking the purple pansies. "Boy, this gardening's very easy. I bet the gardeners who looked after the Hanging Gardens of Babylon had the happiest, easiest jobs in the whole wide world."

In 600 BC, King Nebuchadnezzar IIand his wife Amytis of Media were walking around the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. It was very warm and beautiful day and the gardens were looking very beautiful but what surprised the king and his wife the most was that the gardeners were very happy as they tended to the garden. They were even laughing, singing, whistling and humming as they worked.

"Head gardener!" the king yelled.

The head gardener approached him and his wife. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Why are your gardeners happy?" the king demanded.

"Because gardening is making them happy, Your Majesty," the head gardener replied. "As well as psychical exercise, gardening makes them mentally healthy, boosts their self-esteem, gets them in the fresh air and make friends with each other here."

This surprised both the king and his wife.

"Right, well, carry on, then," the king ordered.

The head gardener bowed as he went back to work.

"I hope the slaves in the rest of the Neo-Babylonian Empire have the same mindset like these gardeners do," the king said to his wife.