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Weak XVI

16 April 2020

No. 6,091 (cartoon)

Failure will make you stronger.

You make it look easy.

17 April 2020

Know Your Thermometers

This Coronararma thing is indeed serious. Two hundred thousand cadavers don’t lie, except in repose.

I’m glad I’m not a nurse; they know enough to be very worried. Angelina has been lovingly chiding me—as opposed to annoying chiding me—to take more precautions during the time of Coronarama after all she’s seen at the hospital.

“Are you being cautious and accurately monitoring your temperature?” she asked.

“Sure,” I assured her, “I’m always putting on or taking off clothes depending on the weather.”

“This is serious. Do you even know the difference between an oral and an anal thermometer?” she demanded.

“Is it that they taste different?” I guessed.

“I’m trying to help you, fool!” she snapped.

“Same here,” I assured her, “I really do believe that laughter really is the best medicine.”

Angelina reprimanded me again, and reiterated that Coronarama is no laughing matter. I suppose there’s a chance she may have had the wrong thermometer in her mouth, but I fear she’s probably right.

18 April 2020

Prankster Hall of Fame

Freddie wrote to boast that he’d been inducted into the Prankster Hall of Fame, and that he used the photograph I made of him during the unfortunate incident in Bangkok as his official portrait. He invited me to visit the organization’s Internet site citing him for a lifetime of escapades, stunts, hoaxes, and other dubious achievements.

Once upon a time he did instigate some creative mischief and mayhem, but that was long, long ago. The Prankster Hall of Fame was itself an obvious prank, and a pathetically unimaginative one at that. I ran a quick analysis of the Internet address he provided, and it had more cooties than a Marseilles bordello.

I sent him an email falsely admitting that I’d fallen for his trick. I also included an invisible surprise: I embedded an activated copy of the Cryptolocker computer ransomware. That will certainly annoy him; that’s why pranks exist.

I’ll charge him a couple of magnums of cheap wine to unlock his computer, then share my plunder with him. That won’t unruffle his conceptual feathers, but at least they’ll be pleasantly relaxed.

19 April 2020

Gratuitous Curry

Evelyn complimented me on the fried potatoes I served at brunch.

“Adding curry was a great idea,” she enthused, “what gave you the idea?”

“I’m not sure,” I lied, “I guess that’s what comes from being exposed to so many cultures.”

That sounded good, didn’t it? In fact, I was too lazy to wash the skillet on the stove I used to cook dinner a few nights ago.

Happy accidents are my friend.

20 April 2020

Socialite and Antisocialite

Peter Beard is dead.

The obituary I read in an otherwise normally respectable periodical mentioned in passing that he was an accomplished artist, but put more emphasis on his past as a handsome socialite who, “partied with the likes of Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger, and Jacqueline Onassis—whom he famously photographed skinny-dipping. His former girlfriends include the actors Candice Bergen and Caroline Bouquet, and he was married for a time to the model Cheryl Tiegs ...”

Perhaps I shouldn’t kvetch about the editing; celebrity is a much more valuable currency in our society than art, especially if a camera is involved.

I’m not going to mention Beard’s work; it speaks for itself. And anyway, I’m now wondering if there’s such a thing as an antisocialite. After perhaps eleven seconds of serious thought, I am going to declare that the answer is yes.

My body of evidence belonged to Stanley Kubrick, now dead for over twenty years. His private life was just that; he was rarely photographed later in life. As a result, a scammer made dinner reservations under his name and was treated very well indeed. At least that’s the story I heard. I have better things to do than track down pesky facts such as if that ever happened, whether the scam was legal, et cetera.

I’m now wondering if there’s such a thing as an asocialite. And now I’ve stopped wondering; that’s enough thought for one morning.

21 April 2020

Something from Nothing

Alexia is under self-imposed house arrest because of the Thing, and she’s not taking it well.

“Make some art,” I suggested.

“I can’t,” she complained, “I have nothing to work with.”

“That’s perfect!” I replied. “Art is making something out of nothing, so you’re all set!”

She told me that I was talking rubbish, then went on to make up all sorts of reasons why it was impossible to do anything except whine and whinge.

I didn’t argue with her; at least she was doing something with her creative energy.

22 April 2020

Great Recommendation!

Marilyn told me that she was applying for a job job and asked me to write a letter of recommendation for her. She’s a dear friend, and scribbling on assignment is so much easier than thinking, so of course I agreed. The first paragraph almost wrote itself ...

Even though it was many years ago, I can still clearly remember the first time I gazed deep into Dr. Oldemann’s mesmerizing, azure eyes. I was immediately transported to an incredible land of intellectual delights, scientific wonders, and unimaginable beauty.

I sent her the introduction and asked if I was going in the right direction. I didn’t have to wonder for long; she called a few minutes later.

“What have you been drinking?” she demanded. “You know I can’t use that.”

“I know your eyes are brown,” I said defensively, “but ‘azure’ is one of those fancy words that all the great writers use.”

“Forget it,” she replied. “I’ll have Hubert do it.”

I didn’t tell her this, but that’s what I call a three-way happy ending. I got credit for volunteering, I didn’t have to do any real work, and Hubert’s an even worser writer than I am, so she probably won’t get the demanding, high-pressure position she’s seeking.

It will take a while for her to simmer down, but when she does, I’m sure she’ll be grateful for my help. Marilyn really is brilliant, and one day she may appreciate that friends don’t help friends get jobs.

23 April 2020

He’s Not That Smart!

Even the dumbest junkie—no, make that the dumbest junkie still alive—knows you don’t inject bleach or any other disinfectant you may have used to clean your syringe. The wisdom of the streets has yet to reach the White House.

pResident Drumph came up with yet another display of his moronic ineptitude when he suggested injecting bleach or some other cleanser to eradicate the nasty bit of coronovirus RNA.

Actually, that’s not true at all. He plagiarized the bleach idea from some snake oil scammer on the Internet, and he’s never heard of the acronym RNA, or even the word acronym for that matter.

His proposal resulted in universal acclaim: every international health organization, government agency, chemical manufacturer, and heroin addict agreed that shooting up with bleach was even dumber than mainlining fentanyl.

Nincompoops love nincompoops, so it’s easy to envision how the latest gaffe might be used in the upcoming election, if there is one.

Vote Drumph!
He’s No Junkie!
(He’s Not That Smart!)

I was going to add a legal notice that I own the copyright to that slogan and everything else I’ve written, but I don’t have to worry about his organization stealing my lines. November is many months away, and that’s plenty of time for him to come up with something even more astonishingly imbecilic.

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©2020 David Glenn Rinehart