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Weak II

9 January 2020

No. 574 (cartoon)

My life has become a nightmare.

That’s my dream come true!

10 January 2020

Remembering Bruce and Nigel

Bruce Abraham was an old friend of mine from my days on the Greenpeace boat. The last time I saw him was when I stayed with him in Seattle in the nineties, then he disappeared. Today, I finally heard what he’s up to: nothing. He’s dead.

He and I were the only two people with companion animals on the ship. I shared a cabin with my cat Majnoun; he lived with Nigel, his cocker spaniel.

I liked Nigel; he was the most well-behaved dog imaginable. He never bit, barked, growled, drooled, or humped anyone’s leg. He never even urinated or defecated; good doggy! Nigel’s impeccable behavior was the result of excellent taxidermy.

I have no idea what happened to Bruce. I can only hope that he left enough money in his will to have himself stuffed by an equally talented taxidermist. Bruce and Nigel together for eternity, what a beautiful picture of my old friend.

11 January 2020

Smells like Gwyneth Paltrow’s Vagina

Some claim that America’s Finest News Source only publishes parodies, but that can’t possibly be true. The allegedly reality-based news services produce stories that are more incredulous and improbable than anything I imagine that a very creative writer could imagine.

Take Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina. Please. Her company is selling seventy-five dollar candles that allegedly smell like her vagina. Corporate copywriters describe the aroma as, “geranium, citrusy bergamot, and cedar absolutes juxtaposed with damask rose and ambrette seed.” Is there a satirist alive who could come up with anything that amazing?

Melanie, who has decades of experience as a gynecologist, swears that pretty much describes the odoriferousness of every woman’s love canal.

“When you’ve sniffed one, you’ve smelled ’em all,” she claimed.

So much for the aesthetics, but what about the science? Specifically, how did the votive engineers burn her vagina to come up with the right formula?

I hear medical professionals are doing incredible things using tightly focused lasers with precise accuracy—within a fraction of a millimeter—to fry things. Sounds painful, but she didn’t make a quarter of a billion dollars shilling any and all things related to her vagina, fictitious or not, by avoiding extremes. (I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s one of those people for whom pleasure and pain can be the same.)

It’s more probable that a surgeon took a tiny biopsy, then burned it in a spectrometer or odoramameter or some other scientific instrument to measure the sizzling bouquet. Or maybe I’m overcomplicating this. Perhaps a perfumer with an acutely perceptive schnozz touched the incandescently hot tip of a soldering iron to her exposed vaginal tissue, took a whiff of the resulting smoke, and visualized the formula in an instant.

And that’s much more than enough conjecture about Paltrow’s feminine bits. There’s one thing that no one disputes: the huckster has the most fecund vagina, commercially speaking, in the history of human genitalia.

12 January 2020

Pantsed

Here’s an excerpt of what Maureen Dowd wrote, “... it wasn’t cool for Meghan and Harry to pants the ninety-three-year-old queen ...”

The slang confused me. I knew what “it wasn’t cool” meant; it’s not cool to be ignorant of such a popular idiom. I had no idea what “to pants” meant, so I called Lara, a young person au fait with contemporary slang.

She laughed when I asked if the definition of “to pants” was “to put on your pants and leave or run away.” She explained that “to pants” someone is “to pull their pants down.”

How was I supposed to figure that out? The queen of the decaying rump of the British Empire has never worn pants! As Princess Die once confided to me, “Queenie never wears pants because they make her saggy bum look big.”

I asked the Internet about “to pants,” and learned that it was first used as a verb over a decade before I was born! I think it’s a perfect indicator of how trendy I am: I pick up my popular slang from The New York Times.

13 January 2020

Taking Care of My Mentals

Marshawn Lynch is a generous man, especially when it comes to sharing words of wisdom gleaned from years of experience playing professional American football (not to be confused with real football).

“I’ve been on the other side of retirement and it’s good when you get over there and you can do what the fuck you want to. So I tell y’all right now while y’all in it: Take care of y’all bread, so when y’all done you can go ahead and take care of yourself. So while y’all in it right now, take care of y’all’s bodies, take care of y’all’s chicken, take care of y’all’s mental. Because, look, we ain’t lasting that long. I had a couple players that I played with that they’re no longer here no more — they’re no longer — so you feel me? Take care of y’all mentals, y’all bodies, y’all chicken, so when y’all ready to walk away y’all walk away and you’ll be able to do what y’all want to do.”

That’s excellent counsel I will certainly remember should I ever retire from being a professional football player, although that’s most improbable bordering on impossible. In any case, I shall certainly continue to take care of my mentals; that’s obviously good advice for everyone.

14 January 2020

Understanding Silence

Penelope started classes at the university to become a veterinarian, then went on to graduate with a degree in psychiatry.

“Do you ever regret the extra time and money you spent headed down a dead-end academic path?” I asked.

“Not at all,” she replied. “Learning how to communicate with sentient beings who can’t talk gave me great head start on becoming a good therapist.”

I nodded without saying anything.

She responded with a trace of a smile.

Dang; she really is good!

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©2020 David Glenn Rinehart