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Weak XII

19 March 2016

No. 8.788 (cartoon)

I’m leaving you.

Why? I gave you the best years of my life.

Exactly.

20 March 2016

Playing God With Worms

It never rains very much in San Francisco except when it does. I’m enjoying the heavy rain today; that’s because I’m not a worm. Duane told me that the earthworms have turned into sidewalkworms after the deluge saturated the ground. He reported that he tried to help them this morning, and that it was the least he could do for them after all the volunteer labor they’ve provided aerating his topsoil.

He gave up after almost an hour when he realized that he had no idea what he was doing. He explained that he couldn’t tell which way the worms were trying to go, and might be setting back their journey if not evolution itself by removing them from the sidewalk before they were squished. He concluded that he might again play god, but not until he figured out how to monetize the job.

21 March 2016

Boaty McBoatface

In a great example of English brilliance, stupidity, or perhaps both, the Natural Environment Research Council is soliciting names from the public on what to name its new polar research ship. If the current vote holds, scientists will be headed to Antarctica in three years aboard the Royal Research Ship Boaty McBoatface. The bureaucrats are also considering other favorites including the RRS It’s Bloody Cold Here, the RRS What Iceberg, and the RRS Big Metal Floaty Thingy-thing.

The polar regions are becoming increasingly militarized, so I think having a silly name on an unarmed ship is a good idea. I don’t understand how military minds work, but I can’t imagine any country attacking Boaty McBoatface. I’m not going to suggest a name since there’s clearly a winner, but, if I did, it would be RRS Olde Boringname. That’s probably a bad name for a boat, though, since England’s sinking fast.

22 March 2016

That’s the Joke

Amanda and I were talking about this and/or that and/or the other thing when she announced that something I said reminded her of a joke.

“What’s the joke?” I asked.

“I can’t remember,” she replied.

“So then I didn’t remind you of a joke,” I continued.

“That’s the joke!” she guffawed.

Amanda really is usually rather funny, except when she’s telling jokes.

23 March 2016

Downtight and Wiggly-laced

Theresa’s parents immigrated to the United States and brought their sexist, medieval societal beliefs with them. She was born in this country, but indoctrinated—brainwashed might be a better word—with her mother and father’s primitive convictions that women are inferior, undesirable even when not menstruating, and should avoid sex except when necessary for procreation.

It’s amazing what bad parenting can do. I’m starting to sound preachy if not worse, but before I move on I’ll leave the last words to Theresa.

“I think it’s safe to say that I’ll never approach being as downtight and wiggly-laced as you, David.”

I’ll take that as a compliment, with the innovative semantics as a nice bonus.

24 March 2016

Cooking for Kids

Once upon a time The Los Angeles Times was regarded as one of the best news outlets in the country. In what I fear is a representative example of the finest in contemporary American journalism, yesterday the Times featured an article by Noelle Carter, “How to boil an egg.” All the alleged article said was this: boil an egg, let it cool, then eat it or put it in the refrigerator.

I don’t have evidence of what I wrote so long ago, but I think Carter may have plagiarized her piece from a paper I penned in third grade. And perhaps that’s the hallmark of prestigious reporting these days: the publishers are targeting a third-grade reading level rather than kindergartners. For example, the feature didn’t explain how to boil water; that assumes a certain amount of intellectual rigor.

I shall have to keep an eye on The Los Angeles Times; perhaps the editors will commission a story on how to tell time with a digital watch or how to use a velcro shoe clasp.

25 March 2016

Dryer Balls

Dryer Balls are one of those “As seen on television” products of dubious effectiveness. The manufacturer purports that leaving a pair of the spiked, plastic balls in the clothes dryer will eliminate a host of laundry woes. All I know is that adolescent boys of all ages can’t resist sniggering at a product called Dryer Balls. If you don’t believe me, just ask Cheryl.

She has a terrible job in a mediocre department store—please excuse my redundancy—that involves dealing with rude men querying her about Dryer Balls. Their witty repartee—for a twelve-year-old—includes asking her whether she has had personal experience Dryer Balls. Would she fluff with Dryer Balls? Could she suggest alternatives to Dryer Balls? And so on.

I would have thought that such ill-mannered customers would make an atrocious job unbearable, but, as is so frequently the case, I would have thought wrong. Cheryl enjoys humiliating the cretins; it’s the only positive aspect of her work.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she responds to each crude question, “but your comments about genitalia require me to report you to my manager who in turn will have to call the police to run a background check on you to see if you’re on the FBI’s sex offender registry. Please stay here; I’ll be right back.”

Hilarity ensues.

Occasionally someone will challenge her for telling such an obvious lie, a few will literally run for the exit, but most turn beet red from embarrassment and beg her not to report them. She makes them grovel and loves every minute of it, which, sadly, are the only minutes of her tedious job she enjoys.

In conclusion, I suppose it’s fair to say that Dryer Balls aren’t entirely useless.

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©2016 David Glenn Rinehart