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Weak XLII

15 October 2013

No. 4,892 (cartoon)

Why am I here?

Where am I?

16 October 2013

Kamikaze Birds Lay Siege to a Wretched Airport

Cats are the reason I’ve never used the San Jose airport. Or, more accurately, the absence of cats.

Today, a jet jetted off from the San Jose airport, but it didn’t make it very far. The Hawai’i-bound plane made an emergency landing at the Oakland airport because at least one of its engines had ingested a kamikaze bird.

One might ask why the San Jose airport is overrun with murderous birds. This one’s not asking that question, since I know the answer. With no pussies to patrol the perimeter, of course the airport’s overrun with bloodthirsty birds.

I’m afraid silly administraitors at the San Jose airport won’t seek feline help until the dirty birds down their first jet. There’s nothing like the smell of burning human flesh to bring idiots to their modest senses.

17 October 2013

This Is Cheap and Embarrassing

Today is a nothing day. Nothing has happened, nothing is happening at the moment, and I’m all but certain that nothing will happen before midnight except for the tippety-tapping of my fingers on this glorified digital typewriter.

All that I can say is that I’ve now been making entries in this silly notebook of little interest to anyone—including me—for six and a half thousand days in a row. Something suggests that citing a meaningless statistic means that I’ve run out of anything remotely interesting to say, and something may be right.

18 October 2013

Artists’ Nightmares

I just read about a scientific study that concluded that artists are more likely than others to have nightmares. I’m skeptical; who’s an artist and who isn’t? And how would a scientist know? I’m guessing vivisection; I don’t want to hear the gruesome details.

Having said that, I do have a lot of nightmares. I don’t think it’s because I’m an alleged artist, though. I ascribe my horrible dreams to my charmed life: nothing bad ever happens to me when I’m awake.

19 October 2013

An Ominous Suit

Christopher showed up wearing a suit. Bad sign.

“Are you getting married?” I asked.

“Not any time soon,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“That’s about the only positive reason for wearing a suit that I can think of,” I said. “Otherwise it means going to court or going to a funeral.”

“In my case, it’s even worse.” he declared. “I’m going to work. Court cases conclude, funerals are quick, but a job never ends.”

I thought it would be rude to mention that I haven’t suffered from a job in decades, so I didn’t.

20 October 2013

Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Clean Paper Only

The last time I visited Anita I apparently put the wrong paper bag in her recycling basket. I don’t remember doing so, but she certainly did. Since the lunch bag had once contained a sealed yogurt container, she deemed it unfit. And to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring again, she left a handwritten sign as a not so gentle reminder.

CLEAN PAPER ONLY

DAVID—

DO NOT PUT ANY FOOD OR BEVERAGE-RELATED ITEMS IN HERE—EVER!

Some people are more obsessive than others, and Anita’s certainly one of them.

21 October 2013

Making Love to a Train Seat?

Journalists are getting so sloppy these days that I don’t know why I bother to comment on shabby reportage. But, since I have nothing better to do at the moment, I will.

Here’s how Vivian Ho summarized the case of a homeless man on drugs: “A man accused of trying to make love to a train seat was acquitted of felony indecent exposure and released from San Francisco jail Monday.”

Make love?! How did the reporter know that the man rubbing his genitalia against the subway seat while smoking crack cocaine really loved the seat? Wasn’t it more probable that he was masturbating? And can a train seat—or any seat, for that matter—truly love?

Perhaps Vivian Ho once loved a subway seat, perhaps she didn’t. With such lackadaisical reporting, it’s hard to tell.

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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart