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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

Last Weak  |  Index  |  Next Weak

Weak II

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9 January 2015

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No. 2,451 (cartoon)

Turn off the lights.

Turn on the darks.

Go!

10 January 2015

Oh Maybellene!

Foghat is a musical ensemble of some repute, albeit ill repute. And that’s fine with me; I appreciate sonic abominations, especially when they offend my sensible friends.

I’ve recently been enjoying Foghat’s recording of Chuck Berry’s composition, Maybellene. (Or Maybelline, depending on which release you have.) The musicians knew how to breed earworms, and they certainly did. That’s bad and/or good enough, and then there are Berry’s Dada lyrics ...

Pink in the mirror on top of the hill,
It’s just like swallowin’ up a medicine pill.

I did almost two minutes of research to confirm the accuracy of that transcription, and in doing so was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chuck Berry’s not dead. (Yet.)

Only an idiot would listen to such an infectious song for days on end. I’ve been listening to Maybellene for days on end. And that concludes today’s modest, if predictable, personal insight.

11 January 2015

Professional Courtesy Among Terrorists

Gareth reports that Paris is full of grumpy Parisians. He failed to mention that the sun rose in the east this morning; that would have been equally illuminating news. He complained that Paris is, “lousy with mimes,” and asked why the terrorists recently murdered cartoonists and not mimes.

I gave him a two-word answer: professional courtesy. If you want to terrorize Parisians, the last thing you want to do is kill the mimes who are already doing so with impunity.

As for me, I continue to make cartoons without fear of reprisal: they’re too boring to read, let alone offend anyone with an automatic weapon.

12 January 2015

Killer Camel Kisses

Bad things happen in Texas, and, when they do, Buzz gleefully and masochistically reports what’s going on in his chosen state. Today’s news: a camel trampled a couple of Texans to death.

That was indeed news, for all I know is that the ships of the desert are the embodiment of orneriness. But murderous? Well, as it turns out, yes.

The killer camel lived at some wretched place called Camel Kisses. (Note the use of the past tense; Annie told me that’s called foreplay, or foreshadowing, or some other infernal litterary term.) Who would want to kiss a camel, anyway? Someone with a death wish; that’s what I figure.

And speaking of dead, the savage camel is. Dead, that is. Texans have an almost whimsical affection for the death penalty. That, and barbecued camel meat.

I suspect Camel Kisses will soon go out of business, with Tasmanian Devil Kisses to follow immediately thereafter.

13 January 2015

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Toothpaste Tortilla Chips

Wanda told me that Joel has invented toothpaste tortilla chips, “a breakthrough in dental hygiene.” According to Joel, replacing salsa with toothpaste allows him to clean his teeth with a high fiber bedtime snack.

Joel’s invention is so profoundly stupid that I’m surprised that no one’s thought of it before. Or maybe I’m not, for it has a fundamental problem. Chips and beer go together like beer and chips, but toothpaste is one of the few things one can ingest that doesn’t complement beer. That’s too bad, for I suppose that the combination of beer foam and corn morsels would clean hard to reach areas between the teeth.

14 January 2015

Double Penis Amputation

What’s worse that having one’s penis cut off? Having one’s penis cut off twice, that’s what. If you don’t believe me, ask Fan Lung.

Lung, a father of five, made the mistake of using his wife’s phone to contact his mistress. That did not sit well with Feng Lung, who expressed her displeasure by cutting off his penis while he slept. Doctors reattached the severed organ, but his wife snuck into his hospital room, cut his penis off again, and threw it out the window. His penis couldn’t be found; authorities speculated that a stray dog devoured it.

On the bright side, such as it is, Lung’s twenty-one-year-old girlfriend plans on marrying him as soon as she can.

“It doesn’t matter that he’s lost his fertility,” Zhang Hung explained, “he has five children already.”

Ah, true love!

Stare.

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©2015 David Glenn Rinehart

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