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Weak XXXVI

3 September 2018

No. 6,546 (cartoon)

I’m sorry to hear that your cousin died recently.

Me too; they should have killed it before it was born.

4 September 2018

Sadistic Chef

Brandon loves Anita. He really really really loves her; he demonstrates his true love at most meals. For example, he casually mentioned that she burned the salad. Again.

“How can anyone burn salad?” I asked.

“Beats me,” he replied, “I guess it’s a gift.”

“How can you deal with that?” I continued.

“It’s simple,” he explained, “I just cut off the charred parts.”

“It doesn’t get much worse than that,” I sympathized.

“Actually, it does,” he responded. “Did I ever tell you about the time I cut my tongue on an ice shard in her lasagna?”

“I remember that,” I lied. (I’m happy that Brandon found love, but I’d already heard too much about the sadistic chef’s culinary innovations.)

Our visit ended well; I didn’t get a dinner invitation.

5 September 2018

The Secret of a Happy Marriage?

Julia showed up at my studio looking obnoxiously happy as usual, so I finally asked her why she usually appeared to be in a ridiculously good mood.

“I’m afraid it’s something you’ll never experience, David,” she replied, “I know the secret of a happy marriage.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” she apologized, “You might tell my husband and he mustn’t know either.”

I wonder if she inadvertently told me the secret of a happy marriage without realizing it?

6 September 2018

The Lack of Contrary Data

Most of my friends are smarter than I am, but Henri is one of those hombres who’s in another league entirely. He’s not only brainier than I’ll ever be; he’s smarter than I can imagine.

Example: over drinks in my studio last year, Henri confided that he was deeply troubled by the question of whether the evidence of absence is nothing more than the absence of evidence.

“I’m just a worthless artist,” I replied, “but I think the answer is evidently obvious given the lack of contrary data.”

“You’re talking camelshit, David,” he replied, “so I’m grateful for your accidental gift.”

I got a message from Henri this morning with his piece published in the most recent issue of The Journal of Applied Scholarly Philosophical Inquiry. I was quite chuffed to read the first paragraph; that’s as far as I got.

“The question of whether the evidence of absence exists simultaneously with the absence of evidence is best addressed by examining the lack of contrary data.”

He said he owed me a few rounds of drinks, but I thought that was over the top. I was flattered by being plagiarized; there’s no better praise.

7 September 2018

Patient Urination

Here’s a little tip for travelers visiting Sans Frisco: head for the nearest hospital when you need to urinate or defecate whilst wandering around the formerly quaint metropolis.

The kleptocrats running our fair city piss away over twelve billion dollars a year without funding any public toilets. Instead, they hire teams of their cronies to clean up the resulting widespread defecation.

I decided to ignore the city’s de facto policy of treating the streets as open sewers and popped into The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence Mercy Hospital to do what needed to be done. Sure enough, there was a bathroom bigger than my studio.

After a most efficacious rest (that’s why it’s called a restroom, innit?), I emerged to find one of the staff glaring at me.

“Have you been admitted for care?” she asked.

“Thanks for asking,” I replied with a fake California smile, “but I’m just fine.”

“Then why in the hell did you ignore the ‘Patient Use Only’ sign on the door?” she demanded.

“I didn’t!” I protested. “I was nothing if not patient. I was relaxed, and even read most of the long article on howitzers in the latest New Yorker.”

She rudely ordered me out of the hospital. I smiled at the irony as I headed to the exit: I was patient and she was not.

8 September 2018

All the Music You Cannot Hear

Eric grudgingly acceded to my demand that he listen to my latest piece, All the Music You Cannot Hear. I knew that he was only going along to get another glass of wine, but that didn’t bother me.

“I can’t hear anything,” he said.

“That shouldn’t come as a surprise give the title, no?” I replied.

“Say, this alleged piece wouldn’t happen to be four minutes and thirty-three seconds long, would it?” he asked.

I just smiled. When it comes to avoiding wrangling with the John Cage Trust’s lawyers, silence is golden in more ways than one.

9 September 2018

Hotel Child Pornography?

Gomez is visiting Sans Frisco, so I had dinner with him in his hotel room. Although that’s the last place I’d normally want to eat, his company paid for room service food and drinks galore. Free meals really are different.

I saw something I’ve never seen before: an interesting piece of art in a hotel. The image was created in a primitivish(?) style, and shows a woman seen from the back holding up her dress with the bottom of her underwear barely visible. Gomez and I both liked it until we started talking about it.

We both agreed that a woman exposing herself was an interesting idea, maybe even erotic depending on to what degree one appreciates flashers. All was well until I wondered aloud whether the crudely rendered subject might be a girl and not a woman.

We found the idea completely repulsive. Gomez took the framed piece off the wall and hid it under the sink. Hats off to the anonymous artist for making such a disturbingly ambiguous piece.

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©2018 David Glenn Rinehart