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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak V


30 January 2018

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No. 6,844 (cartoon)

Love is expensive.

Hatred is cheap.

We’re both frugal and made for each other.

31 January 2018

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Purple Moon

The Miami Herald’s Alex Harris predicted that this morning, “The moon is about to do something it hasn’t done in more than one hundred and fifty years.” Or maybe he didn’t say anything of the sort; perhaps a mediocre headline writer concocted that. Journalistic accountability is increasingly hard to pin down. In any case, the moon didn’t do a damn thing this morning; it’s just a big rock that hasn’t even had a magnetic field in billions of years.

The super blue blood moon eclipse is just a celestial coincidence. It’s “super” because its orbit is close to earth, “blue” because this is the second full moon this month, and “blood” because millions of earthlings are menstruating. And the eclipse part? That’s just marketing; there’s a lunar eclipse every day. Look it up.

I slept through the alleged phenomenon; only someone more idioter than me would get up before dawn to witness a brief atypical planetary alignment.

A purple moon is something else; I don’t think one ever existed before I concocted one on my computer today. That’s something I’ve never seen before, and hope I won’t again.

1 February 2018

Real Good Huntin’!

It was a tragedy, no other word will do. Here’s what happened ...

Pero Jelinic, a seventy-five-year-old retired hotel owner from Croatia, was hunting lions in South Africa. And when it comes to “hunting,” almost any other word will do. The old man was participating in what’s accurately been described as a canned hunt. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel only without the fish or the barrel. The pensioner was killing captive-bred, farm-raised lions on private land. I suppose it’s the equivalent of going to a farm and killing tame horses.

Jelinic was about to kill his second lion on his little expedition when he died from what was first described as “a stray bullet” killed him. Later, authorities said he died after an attack by “unknown assailants.”

Again, it was certainly a tragedy. It’s a tragedy that no one prevented the sadist from killing his first tame kitty, and that gave me an idea ...

Capitalists are always going to try to make money and killers are going to kill, so why not make the system work for everyone? The scumbags who breed tame lions to be blown away my rich old men could still charge for that dubious opportunity, but they could double their revenue stream by getting new clients to pay to hunt the so-called hunters. The rich idiot trying to slaughter a domesticated cat would have to do so before someone emptied a clip from his or her AK-47 through the hamburger that used to be someone’s head.

Now that’s what I call some real good huntin’!

2 February 2018

Clothing Kills

I break the law all the time. It works out fine as long as I don’t get caught, and I so rarely do that doing a cost/benefit analysis would be a waste of time. But what isn’t a waste of time? But I digress.

I haven’t found a way around Gompertzian Law: as a mammal, the older I am the more likely I am to die sooner than later. ’twould appear that I’ve been outfoxed my naked mole rats, even though they’re clearly not foxes.

Scientists and researchers believe (sounds credible already, doesn’t it?) that there’s not a definitive correlation between the naked mole rats’ age and longevity. The geniuses at Calico Labs have no idea why, but I do. I am, after all, an extraordinarily stable genius.

The answer is obvious. Naked mole rats are, by definition, naked. Clothing kills. Even if it weren’t for the frigid embrace of the Sans Frisco fog, I’m too shy to spend my entire life free from shabby apparel. In practice, that means that I’m going to die sooner than later. I’ve known that since at least kindergarten.

As usual, there’s nothing new to report today, but I already said it anyway so I’ll stop now after a period.

3 February 2018

Better Eccentric Than Weird?

Yuri, a geek visiting the Internet Archive yesterday, declared that he wanted to rich.

“Why would a smart guy like you want to do something stupid like that?” I asked. (Almost all of my friends with too much money would be much better off with less.)

“Because I’m weird,” he replied.

“I agree it’s weird to want to have more money than you need,” I replied.

“You don’t get it,” he continued. “Right now everyone thinks I’m weird, but if I was rich I’d just be eccentric.”

He’s obviously not as smart as I thought; only an idiot would live his or her life based on the opinions of others.

4 February 2018

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Dctr Jhnsn’s Lament

Dctr Jhnsn visited me at my studio yesterday. He’s not doing well; he’s not doing well at all. He’s obviously suffering from VD (Vowel Deficiency). Even worse, he reports that the working conditions at his new job are intolerable bordering on the inhumane.

His work involves staring at computer monitors all day, so where do his perfidious employers force him to toil? In the brightest room in the building, that’s where. His office overlooks Sans Frisco Bay; he showed me a disturbing photograph of the huge, unshaded windows. There’s no way to prevent direct sunlight from flooding in, and the glare and reflections from the water make things even worse.

Yuck. He was being very stoic about the entire fiasco, but I think he was in denial about the whole wretched mess.

After he left, I went back to my shadowy room, basked in the glow of my computer screens in the dim light, and was most grateful for my good fortune.


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©2018 David Glenn Rinehart