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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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9 October 2017

gratuitous image

No. 6,524 (cartoon)

I’ve never lied to you once.

You’ve lied to me a hundred times.

That’s different.

10 October 2017

Catching Something in Bed

Henri showed me another one of his dreadful “boudoir portraits.” It looked like all the rest: an overweight woman in a ridiculous fetish outfit lounging in bed wearing stilettos. As one does. And of course he used a soft-focus lens and lots of retouching.

“I think I caught something there,” he boasted.

“Herpes?” I asked. ”Syphilis? Gonorrhea?”

He scowled. No one likes a critic.

11 October 2017

A Political Promotion

The grossly obese man with the shellacked hair, tiny brain, and small hands living in the White House insisted that the claim that his secretary of state called him “a moron” was false, fake news. Much to my surprise, this was one of those rare occasions when the lying sociopath was telling the truth.

According to Stephen Colbert, “[Secretary of State] Tillerson didn’t call our president a moron; he called him “a fucking moron.” Or maybe not. Malaria Trump, the First Arm Candy, insists that she understandably never had sex with the cretin, and that their son is the result of artificial insemination involving a sperm donor who obviously, unlike like her nominal husband, isn’t an idiot suffering from erectile dysfunction.

Or perhaps Drumph isn’t an idiot after all. As John Cleese sagely observed, “Why would Trump be upset if Secretary of State Rex Tillerson called him a moron? You'd think he'd be grateful for the upgrade.”

He has a point. Someone with an IQ of from zero (?!) to twenty-five is an idiot, an imbecile’s IQ ranges from twenty-six to fifty, and a moron has an IQ of between fifty-one and seventy.

Having elevated his buffoon boss’s status from idiot or imbecile to moron, I think the secretary of state will keep his job, albeit probably not until the end of the month.

12 October 2017

Breathing Dead People

Wildfires are burning out of control a hundred kilometers north of here. That’s close enough for thick, acrid smoke to figuratively choke Sans Frisco and literally choke me. It’s too polluted to ride my bike, but I need to stop complaining and remember that some of the particulates may be the remains of dozens of fire victims and everything they owned.

13 October 2017


Manil Suri wrote an article asking what civilization invented the number “zero.” Was it the Babylonians? The Chinese? The Greeks? The Indians? The Mayans? The number that interested me the most, however, was “thousand.” The piece was exactly a thousand words long including the title and byline.

Why was that? Was he paid by the word? A fastidious editor? Coincidence?

Now here’s my favorite part of my disjointed narrative. I mailed Suri’s essay to Eric; he responded with a single world. Actually, it wasn’t a word, it was an acronym. If acronyms can contain punctuation, that is.


I had to ask a young person what it meant, so Gomez told me: “Too Long; Didn’t Read.”

Whew! I finally learned something useful today.

14 October 2017

Dead Dolphin Sex

I’ve never had a very high opinion of Newsweek magazine, but that may have just changed after I saw this piece: “Scientists Inflated Dead Dolphin Penises to Fake Sex with Dead Dolphin Vaginas.”

I’m fairly certain that I’ve never seen a better headline about necrophilia. And, like every great headline, it made the accompanying article superfluous.


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©2017 David Glenn Rinehart

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