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Weak XXXVI

3 September 2022

No. 6,382 (cartoon)

I had a calling to greatness when I was young.

What happened?

Wrong number.

4 September 2022

(Not) Dealing with Turing Test Failures

I wrote to the Acme Camera Company asking for a refund after the battery I bought for my camera started bloating and then went kerflooey. In response, I got a form letter on camera strap care and maintenance. I wasn’t surprised that the entry-level peon who couldn’t read couldn’t write, either.

Some companies deal with the illiteracy plague by blocking all written communications with the public and instead mandate a phone call with a, “customer satisfaction specialist.” That usually involves spending twenty or thirty minutes on hold before talking with “Chet” in Calcutta. (Why are all the men who work in Indian call centers named Chet?) If we have a good connection, his English will be unintelligible. If he has perfect English, the phone connection will be unusable.

It gets even worse if I talk to an American to get a problem resolved; most of ’em couldn’t pass a Turing test. I suppose that’s why they’re working for the minimum wage in an electronic sweatshop.

Now that I’m done whining, I must admit that the corporate strategy of being incommunicado is effective. At least that approach worked for the Acme Camera Company; I’ve given up on getting a refund or replacement for my bad battery.

5 September 2022

No Kids, No Zoo

Dang, it sure is hot. Over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, over forty Celcius, the hottest temperatures on record for San Francisco, et cetera, et cetera, and, furthermore, et cetera. The news that got my attention was when Kiliaen told me that the Children’s Zoo in Oakland was closed for the first time. Now that’s hot!

To no one’s surprise, especially mine, I was wrong. The zoo closing has nothing to do with the weather; the last four kids escaped so there’s nothing to see there until they round up some more feral urchins.

6 September 2022

Fat Leonard’s on the Waddle

Fat Leonard is on the run. Or perhaps, given his obesity, he’s on the waddle. No one knows for sure. He bribed naval officers with cash and prostitutes in the course of bilking the government out of thirty-five million dollars. Given the severity and magnitude of the crime, he was under house arrest instead of behind bars along with every kid selling drugs on a street corner. Or, given the fact that he cut off his ankle bracelet and vamoosed without a trace, he just might be behind a bar at this very moment.

If there’s one bright spot to another “big crime pays big” story, it’s that American journalism is still at its best.

Announcer to reporter: “Sarah, can you tell us how he came to be known as Fat Leonard?”

Reporter to announcer: “Yes I can, Jim. His name is Leonard and he’s fat.”

Edward Roscoe Murrow lives!

(Nah, just messin’ with you; he died in 1965.)

7 September 2022

Two-Thirds of a Century and Counting

I’m having another birthday today, and it’s a rilly rilly big one: I’m two-thirds of a century old. 66.666 ... and all that.

I can’t invite anyone to a party that Coronarama might crash, so I’ll be celebrating alone by eating two-thirds of a spanakopita pie. But what to drink?

Two-thirds of a bottle of beer clearly isn’t enough, and I can’t afford to ignore the possibility that two-thirds of a bottle of Scotch just might be a wee bit too much. Dr. Roberts solved my problem by recommending two-thirds of a six-pack. Now that’s advice I can use! I’ll have the cheesy pie to go with it, and a good time shall be had by all.

8 September 2022

Sensible Murder Rampage?

Here’s the headline of the day (so far) ...

Memphis shooting: Man arrested after “senseless murder rampage.”

I wonder if they would have incarcerated him had it been a sensible murder rampage?

9 September 2022

One Less Parasite

Today’s big news: Queen Still Dead. That means that all the coins and stamps will need to be redesigned and reissued in larger formats to allow for the accurate depiction of King Chuck’s elephantine ears. (Oh well, at least they promoted Prince Chuck the Philanderer instead of Prince Andy the Pedophile.) Other than that not much will change from day to day on the miserable little island. The royal (in)breeding stock has been pumping out more little parasites over the years, so there’ll still be plenty of snouts in the public trough.

My favorite obit so far: Carnegie Mellon University professor Uju Anya’s remembrance of her as, “the chief monarch of a thieving and raping genocidal empire.” She left out the castration of the Mau Mau in the Kenyan concentration camps the Brits ran, but it’s impossible to work everything into a pithy media morsel, innit?

I’m so glad I let the royal buggers bribe me to drop out of the campaign to be the king of England; what a poisoned chalice! So while Lizzie’s on ice before they plant her in a week or two and Chuck’s opening a shopping center in Sheepshag-upon-Avon I’ll be sittin’ by the dock of the bay here in Sans Frisco channeling Otis Redding.

Don’t be glum! C’mon everyone, sing along!

“No future, no future ...”

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2022 David Glenn Rinehart