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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XV


9 April 2019

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No. 2,324 (cartoon)

I miss you.

You’re a liar; you never call or write.

I drink about you all the time.

10 April 2019

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Melissophobe Alert!

Lissen up and lissen up good, all you melissophobes; this tale is for you! And for all you cunning linguists as well!

He went to the hospital in Taiwan complaining that one of her eyes was swollen. He was fortunate to be examined by Dr. Hung Chi-ting, Fooyin University Hospital’s head of ophthalmology. He thought her ailment was most unusual. After examining her through a microscope, well, Dr. Hung was right. He was aghast to discover that she had four bees under her eyelid living off her tears. He safely extracted the bees, and He and her eyes are fine.

Confused? I hope so; that was my intent in relating the story. He, a twenty-nine-year-old Taiwanese woman, was involuntarily hosting four parasitic sweat bees in her eye ducts.

All you melissophobes aren’t paranoid; the bees really are out to make your lives a living hell. If you survive, that is. And a woman named He is good for at least seven minutes of good comedy for anyone who’s the least bit competent at plagiarizing Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

11 April 2019

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Cheryl’s Blackmail Material

Katie Bouman is credited with the discovery of a massive black hole at the heart of the Messier 87 galaxy, but Cheryl knows the truth.

Cheryl works with Stephanie, an alcoholic, in Bouman’s astronomy lab. Stephanie is the kind of researcher who’s swallowed half a bottle of cheap vodka before noon and the other half before lunch is over.

Just the other day Cheryl noted that Stephanie was inebriateder than usual and playing with photos of doughnuts from the morning staff meeting. She manipulated one of her images with her computer, then filed the photo on the lab’s server in the messier87 directory with the filename, “darkhole.”

According to Cheryl, Bouman found the file and took credit for Stephanie’s black hole doughnut. Cheryl could expose the fraud, but instead, she’s figuring out the most profitable blackmail strategy.

Very scientific, very scientific indeed!

12 April 2019

Leave ’em Laughing!

Ian Cognito is a comedian’s comedian. Or, rather, he was until yesterday, when he died on stage. Here’s the joke: when a comedian fails to make the audience laugh and instead leaves them sullen or even heckling, s/he’s said to have died on stage. And here’s what Cognito did that was so breathtakingly brilliant: he literally passed away on stage, a stroke of comedic genius that left the audience in hysterics.

Until they finally figured out that he wasn’t acting.

Cognito’s last joke—which really was his last joke—was one of the hardest kinds to pull off: make someone laugh at something hilarious, then make them feel guilty and ashamed for doing so.

And that’s it for me: I just exhausted my daily quota of colons.

13 April 2019

Wheelchair Tennis Fiasco

I know it’s impolite at best to laugh at someone in a wheelchair, but slapstick is slapstick is slapstick. And that’s I why cracked a most inappropriate smile when I saw this headline: Australian wheelchair tennis event moved after court built on a slope.

The funniest part was the imagery. The article was accompanied by an old file photo of a couple of people posing on the slanted court; there wasn’t a wheelchair in sight. That left me free to imagine the farcical spectacle of trying to play tennis in a rolling wheelchair.

Comedy, like eroticism, is best when imagined, as opposed to stated explicitly. There are exceptions, of course, such as some Monty Python skits from half a century ago, but that’s also an example of how rare that can be.

14 April 2019

Lethal Cassowary Omelet

I tried to find out how many birds Americans eat every day, but the only government information I could find was that each one of us consumes an average of fifty kilograms of fowl meat a year. I have no way to extrapolate how many feathered critters that is, since a turkey weighs a lot more than a pigeon. In big, round numbers that don’t involve numerals, we kill a mountain of birds every day.

Some days you kill the bird, other times the bird kills you. I am of course talking about cassowaries. The flightless Australian birds can grow to a couple of meters high and weigh sixty kilograms. That’s a lot of meat, but it’s dangerous meat. The avian monsters have ten-centimeter claws that they use like bayonets to slash predators and prey.

It’s not for nothing that ornithologists regard them as the most dangerous birds on the planet. And if you don’t believe them, just ask Marvin Hajos. On second thought, don’t bother. One of the seventy-five-year-old Florida man’s cassowaries killed him. Dead men tell no tales, but authorities speculate he was trying to get one of the bird’s eggs.

I wonder what a cassowary egg omelet tastes like? It can’t be tasty enough to risk being stabbed and sliced.

15 April 2019

God Hates Frogs

God Hates Frogs

That’s the headline today in today’s edition of The Evangelical Avenging Trumpet of Christ, published by the Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912. The virulently nationalistic, xenophobic Christians were rejoicing that the lord had smote the godless Catholics with an inferno at Notre-Dame de Paris.

I’m agnostic, but if I believed in prayer I’d ask Jesus to protect me from his followers.


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©2019 David Glenn Rinehart

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