Black is the absence of light.

Is black a color?

“Tedious and boring ...”
— Ms. B. K.

“... lacks connoisseurship.”
— Ms. D. H.

“People don’t want art, they want amusement.”
— Mr. A. G.

Dr. M.O. provided the most optimistic response after I described my plans for future endeavors. “Perhaps viewers may find these new projects of more interest than your work to date.”

That’s ridiculous!

Rainier Ale is as unambitious as it is wonderful. Rainier Ale may or may not have free will, but it has no ability to serve as an instigator. Be that as it may, never underestimate the power of a catalyst. Even though Rainier Ale does nothing of its own volition, I’m continually amazed at Rainier Ale’s zany antics as a silent coconspirator.

There’s much more to be said about the miracle that is Rainier Ale, and I shall.

Later, perhaps.

“As a rabbinical scholar,” she replied, “I see everything from a biblical perspective.”

“So what does that mean in practice?” I inquired.

“Proverbs 26:11,” Rusty said.

“Translation, please,” I requested.

“As a dog returneth to his vomit,” Rusty intoned, “so a fool returneth to his folly.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” I asked.

“David,” Rusty concluded, “you’re full of yourself.”

The next time I make a bad conceptual art piece, I’m going to use a foreign language. I’m going to use a language so foreign that almost no one will be able to understand it. I may make up a new language just for the occasion.

Anonymous was right when s/he said, “Omne ignotum pro magnifico.” (Everything unknown is assumed to be grand.)

Dr. Watson asks Sherlock Holmes what he thinks about when he looks up at the stars. Holmes replies that he thinks that someone stole his tent.

Personally, I think that’s not even among the thousand funniest jokes I’ve heard. Any joke that involves an animal going into a bar, a priest, a rabbi and a minister, a person with no arms or legs, et cetera, is almost certain to be funnier.

But who could contradict the work of a University of Hertfordshire professor, working in conjunction with the British Association for the Advancement of Science, published in the august journal, Experimental Biology and Medicine?

I think an animal going into a bar, a priest, a rabbi and a minister, and a person with no arms or legs could easily provide the answer.

The best job in the world involved having sex with—and impregnating—race horses.

Qualified service providers receive half a million dollars for a single act of sexual intercourse! Although I find the proposition of exchanging sex for money generally reprehensible, I might reconsider my ostensibly moral stance if I was looking at half a million dollars on the table. Or the bed. Or wherever it is that horses copulate.

Sadly, my running days are over. In fact, I never had a single running day. For that reason alone, I’ll probably never see half a million dollars for a day (night?) of work. But I’m not disappointed. I still maintain that being jobless is still preferable than having even the best job in the world.