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Weak XIV

3 April 2016

No. 7,851 (cartoon)

I wish I could be buried next to my daughter.

Why can’t you?

I can’t remember where I hid her body.

4 April 2016

Opening Game

The sporting mercenaries doing business as the San Francisco Giants played their first baseball game of the year today. Each one of the men on the team earns a minimum of half a million dollars a year for part-time work, with the highest-paid player earning over twenty million dollars annually. That may sound like a lot of money, but they have almost superhuman abilities when it comes to baseball.

The players have to sit in a hole, or dugout, for hours on end. They’re literally almost below see level. The rules of the game prohibit them from having computers, radios, telephones, or anything else that would alleviate the unimaginable boredom of watching eighteen grown men throwing, catching, and hitting a white, little ball. They have to do that at least one hundred and sixty-two times before November.

How can any human being do that? I couldn’t spend that much time in a trench for any amount of money. I suppose I might consider being a football coach, at least they’re allowed to have headphones on during the game to listen to Bachman Turner Overdrive.

5 April 2016

A Many Splintered Thing

Deirdre confided that she’s having an affair with her tennis instructor. I don’t have a problem with other people’s values, but bad clichés are quite another thing. And then there’s the matter of her admitted dishonesty.

“What would Brett think if he know what you just told me?” I asked.

“He’d be fine with that,” she replied. “We both lie all the time.”

Love can be a many splintered thing.

6 April 2016

Camel Juice

Astronomers were poking around the backwoods of the universe in the constellation Eridanus when they stumbled upon a remarkable sight. According the account I read in Nature, they saw a black hole seventeen billion times the mass of the sun some two-hundred million light-years from Sans Frisco.

What’s wrong with that story? In a word, everything.

First of all, you can’t see a bloody black hole because it’s a bloody black hole, innit? And then there’s the inconvenient reality that they’re talking about something that happened two-hundred million years ago, so that can’t possibly be news. And what’s with using “the mass of the sun” as a unit of measurement when the rest of the world uses Olympic swimming pools to describe volume?

The whole report is just camel juice being passed off as knowledge; that’s why most Americans aren’t smarter than the half a molecule of yeast in the crappy beer they drink.

7 April 2016

Jeepers Creepers

My eyes are my second favorite organ, so I finally got around to seeing—no pun intended—an optometrist for the second time in my life.

My peepers are just fine; thanks for asking.

After hearing the results from a nearly perfect physical examination, I’m now worried about being really, really old and dying from nothing.

8 April 2016

My Father at Ninety-Six

Today would have been my father’s ninety-sixth birthday had he not died over twenty-five years ago. When I think of Glenn Albert Rinehart, many wonderful images come to mind, in part because I have very few photographs of him and not a second of video.

I rarely photograph the people I love unless they ask me to do so. I enjoy my blurry mental montages of them as opposed to a finite number of two-dimensional images. And I’m so thankful I don’t have any films or videos of my father, otherwise they might eclipse all the clips I’m remembering today.

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©2016 David Glenn Rinehart