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Weak XXXIX

24 September 2019

No. 6,267 (cartoon)

Worried about the coming depression?

No; I got a head start.

25 September 2019

How My Brain Works

Charlie’s one of those people who has a large can or jar of pennies sitting on a remote shelf somewhere in their home. I spotted a huge mayonnaise jar full of ’em in his laundry room.

That observation raised a couple of interesting questions. Why do coins always accumulate in washing machines; don’t people empty their pockets? And why would anyone buy a two-liter jar of mayonnaise? I decided to ponder those questions later, and instead told him that I wanted to examine his coins.

“Why bother?” he asked. “I can guarantee you that each one is worth one cent.”

“Not if it’s a 1909 S VDB,” I replied.

I surprised both of us with my obscure numismatic knowledge. The mint cranked out the first Lincoln head penny in 1909, “S” indicates it came from San Francisco, and a relatively small percentage of the 1909 coins featured the initials of the coin’s designer, Victor David Brenner.

I can’t figure out how my mind works on those occasions when it does. I could remember everything about the penny I lusted after in junior high school half a century ago but forgot to send the Jorge the photos from his party last Saturday until he reminded me three times since then.

I figure I’ll never understand how my brain works until I’m dead. By then it should be obvious.

26 September 2019

Seymor’s a Vagueabond

Seymor’s landlord evicted him a few months ago in order to rent his apartment to someone happy to pay several thousand dollars a month more than he could afford. Welcome to San Francisco!

Since then, he’s been comfortably living out of his backpack and visiting friends thither and yon.

“The life of a vagabond seems to suit you,” I observed.

“Please don’t call me that,” he replied. “I prefer to think of myself as a vagueabond.”

Duly noted.

27 September 2019

Birthday Math

Today is Marin’s birthday; this is the fourth day in a row that I’ve celebrated a friend’s birthday. That may or not be a coincidence.

The first thing I do when I learn someone’s birthday is to subtract nine months to guesstimate when they were conceived. The cluster of birthdays around this time on the twenty-somethingth of September suggests that something about Christmas must be a very powerful aphrodisiac indeed.

28 September 2019

Woori Mart

No worries, as the Aussies say? Did you leave your worries behind? Well, if you’re in Buffalo, the Woori Mart caters to all of your worry needs!

Rodney told me that the little shop used to be called Worry Mart, but Ruth and Stewart, the convivial proprietors, had to change the name when some multinational corporation’s law firm sent them a nasty cease and desist lawyergram because the name was trademarked in Botswana. Or some damn thing.

Not to worry? Of course not; Ruth and Stewart can provide for all your worry needs with a quick trip to the Woori Mart!

29 September 2019

Hospital Tales

Veronica is a doctor and has the best stories to tell about her patients, but isn’t allowed to share them because of alleged ethical and privacy concerns. She can’t repeat them, but I can!

She asked a young woman with a suspicious rash if she was sexually active. She replied that she wasn’t; it’s a man’s job to do all the work so she just relaxed.

A hypochondriac asked if it was true that if he died during the night that he wouldn’t realize it until sunrise.

Another patient had an untreated wound that was colonized by maggots, and ... nah, I think I’ll stop there.

30 September 2019

Pork Dust

Some people worry about things that really aren’t worth it, such as carbohydrates. That’s one possible explanation why an abomination like Pork Dust (fried pork skins), “the meaty alternative to bread crumbs,” even exists. Or maybe some people just can’t get enough fat and cholesterol in their diet without the greasy swine supplement. Or possibly plain bacon just isn’t piggy enough for porky epicures unless it’s coated in Pork Dust.

In any case, Pork Dust is an idea whose time has come. And gone.

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©2019 David Glenn Rinehart