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Weak VII

12 February 2016

No. 9,927 (cartoon)

You’re a fat pig.

You’re a blubbery, corpulent, overweight hog.

You’re a fat pig with a thesaurus.

13 February 2016

Love in the Time of VD

Stephan asked his wife what she wanted for Valentine’s Day, and her answer shocked him: she demanded a divorce. He repeated how much he loved her, and did so with passion and conviction before rephrasing his original question. What could he get her for Valentine’s Day that wasn’t nearly as expensive as a divorce?

Things didn’t go well after that. And that’s the problem with business promotions in the guise of VD and other faux holidays: they’re only good for making money and grief. Nevertheless, Stephan took it in stride and told me he found a lawyer who offered reasonably priced legal services plus a coupon for half off his next divorce.

Ah, love in the time of VD!

14 February 2016

The Revolutionary Alliance of Men Whom Women Find Unattractive

The blood-soaked conspiracy of Valentine’s Day, driven by the oppressive chocolate capitalists, has arrived once again.

That’s the official position of The Revolutionary Alliance of Men Whom Women Find Unattractive; its members are most displeased by all the snogging and canoodling going on in Japan today. After all, the organization maintains, “Public flirtation is terrorism.”

The homely men are miserable, but apparently not wretched enough to develop romantic relationships with women as attractive as they are. Instead, they’re calling for an end to romance; they want to achieve equality by ensuring everyone is just as lonely and forlorn as they are. I think their mission is doomed, there’s just too much love everywhere.

15 February 2016

Neutron Baseball Star

It’s a slow news day, so I’ve been reading about neutron stars. One the size of a baseball would weigh some twenty trillion kilograms, or roughly forty times as much as all the human meat alive today. It’s a good thing there are no neutron star baseballs. Since no one could hit, catch, or throw one, the alleged game would be even more boring than it already it.

16 February 2016

Walter and Colleen

Andrew and I walked through the cemetery this afternoon drinking beer and enjoying the improbably warm day. The boneyard is a great place to quench one’s thirst. No one there complains; they’re all two meters underground. It’s a good reminder that opportunities to enjoy a drink under a blue sky are finite.

I spotted familiar numerical correlations: wives seem to outlive their husbands by about a decade or so. It’s hard not to notice when both names are on the same tombstone. One in particular caught my attention.

Walter Hughes
1922—2009

Colleen Hughes
1930—

I won’t be surprised to see “2019” chiseled underneath her name if I walk by there again in a few years. And I do plan on passing there again to show friends Walter’s peculiar inscription, “I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for Colleen.”

Walter’s widow has had years to come up with an ingenious rejoinder; I wonder if she will take advantage of literally having the last word?

17 February 2016

Never Better Than Today

I like insults, but I’m just too dang nice to say them to anyone, even someone who really deserves it. That’s why I’m grateful to Jacques Pepin for a wonderfully dismissive phrase he uses to critique another chef’s poor food without actually calling it that. When a mediocre cook asks him what he thought of the dish he prepared to impress the celebrity gourmand, Pepin replies with a smile, “You’ll never be better than today.”

I can’t think of a meaner thing to say to someone purportedly involved in a creative endeavor; I shall have to remember it just in case.

18 February 2016

Torpor in the House

David Fingleton wrote one of my favorite damning critiques when he noted, “Snoring is the highest form of operatic criticism.” This may or may not be a corollary, but Amy Sedaris succinctly lambasted a theatrical production in her review, “It sleeps three hundred.”

19 February 2016

Poning My Visit with Colin

Colin called to ask whether we could prepone our studio visit on Tuesday by a day.

“?!” I asked. (Those were my exact words.)

“I can’t make it on Tuesday,” he replied, “so can we can get together Monday instead?”

He noticed that I was befuddleder than usual, so he explained that “prepone,” the opposite of “postpone,” is a fine word rarely used outside of India.

I told him that the only time I could get together on Monday was at sixteen hundred, so we agreed to pone it then.

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©2016 David Glenn Rinehart