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Weak XXXVII

10 September 2023

No. 3,493 (cartoon)

You’re going to get murdered.

But I’m in love!

Why didn’t you say so?

11 September 2023

Landweber Iterations

Victor and I celebrated his eightieth annual Landweber iteration tonight; we had a jolly good time.

“As I’ve always said,” I toasted, “Don’t worry about getting old, worry about thinking old.”

“I’ve never heard you say that before,” he replied.

“You’re right,” I agreed, “but if I say something all the time I had to start somewhere.”

12 September 2023

Where Derrières Go to Die

I’m way behind on reading the stack of periodicals piling up in my computer, and I finally got around to the February edition of Aesthetic Surgery Journal. I mainly read it for the gory operating room photos, but today I was struck by an article, Brazilian Butt Lift-Associated Mortality: The South Florida Experience. I read it so you needn’t bother.

I have no idea what a Brazilian Butt Lift is or why anyone would want one, but apparently they’re quite popular. As the authors noted, “These issues [disfiguration and death] will only worsen as the high-volume, budget clinics of South Florida are now spreading across the United States.”

That sounds rather negative, and I prefer to be positive. I think this represents a great business opportunity for enterprising morticians and coffin manufacturers: displaying the corpse face down in order to display the uplifted derrière for grieving mourners to admire.

13 September 2023

Who’s Driving, You or the Worm?

Once upon a time in 2023 an Australian woman was suffering from memory loss and depression. The doctors had a good look under the hood, and there it was: Ophidascaris robertsi in the flesh. Or, more accurately, in the nematode. In lay terms, the woman had a worm in her brain.

Everyone knows that those worms are usually found in carpet pythons, so I’m going to skip all the scientifical textbooky stuff and ask the obvious question: when there’s a nematode in your cranial cavity, who’s driving, you or the worm?

I’ve described the British royals as an infestation of inbred parasites for all the obvious reasons, but what if they’re literal parasites and the clan is actually run by worms in inbred human bodies? Maybe that’s how succession really works.

I’m imagining a team of doctors hovering over Lizzie the Deuce on her deathbed. As soon as she breathed her last breath, out came the royal scalpels. A minute later, the alpha worm was extracted from her brain and implanted in King Chuck’s noggin. (His ears are so huge because they’re how the worms come and go.)

That makes perfect sense, but I don’t want to consider the details and implications. I’ve done quite enough thinking for one day, maybe even two.

14 September 2023

Who’s Driving, Man or Horse?

A California highway patrol officer spotted a man cruising down the road drinking from “an open container of alcohol.” He arrested the inebriated guy for “driving under the influence.”

Case closed.

Or is it?

You see, or maybe you don’t, that the perp was on his horse. And that raises a plentiful plethora of sticky questions.

Who was driving, the man or the horse? Was the horse also drunk? How does a rider on a self-driving horse differ from a passenger in a robotic driverless taxi?

I assume the Amish had this all figured out a long time ago. If the guy drinking on his horse gets an Amish attorney, I’m sure he’ll be riding off into the sunset on his coconspirator steed to get another refreshing drink real soon.

15 September 2023

Ig Nobel Prizes

The Ig Nobel Prizes celebrate relatively obscure scientific advances such as exploring why scientists lick rocks, reanimating dead spiders to serve as mechanical gripping tools, that sort of thing. Those two 2023 winners, announced yesterday, were among the best, but my favorite was The Quantification and Measurement of Nasal Hairs in a Cadaveric Population.

Do humans have an equal number of hairs in each nostril? One way to find the answer is to chop up a lot of corpses and start counting. That’s what the winners of the Ig Nobel Prize for medicine did, and I salute their tireless pursuit of empirical knowledge!

I also appreciate the research for broadening my appreciation of all the myriad possibilities of “donating your body to science.” At least they didn’t play jumprope with the deceased’s intestines.

(Or did they?)

16 September 2023

The Hole Where Liquified Chicken Goes

It’s so hot even the artificial flowers are dying, so the first thing I did after returning from a long bike ride was to pour poor me a tall glass of Essence of Chicken Drink. Refreshing and quite delightful!

No I didn’t do that. That’s even disgusting to me. And that’s saying something, which I just did.

Essence of Chicken Drink looks like a prop from a Monty Python sketch, but it appears to be a real commercial product. Many of my friends—both Jews and goys—claim chicken soup with lots of fat can ...

No.

I seem to be heading into the vile dank hole where liquified chicken goes, so I’m doing an about-face to avoid that and pouring poor me a tall glass of Essence of Grapes Drink, cheap red wine!

17 September 2023

Value Shortage

Lauren Boebert is a Colorado demagogue and standard bearer for the shonky American import of the Monster Raving Loony Party. She and her boyfriend were recently ejected from a Denver theatre after they behaved like the entitled bombastic cretins they are. In particular, they smoked, repeatedly set off the strobes on their cameras, insulted and/or threatened everyone within earshot, and groped and fondled each other like drunken thirteen-year-olds.

Boebert fabricated a story that fell apart when her lies were exposed with video evidence from a surveillance camera. The representative then came up with a brilliant excuse for inexcusable behavior, “I simply fell short of my values.” She later added that enthusiastically rubbing her partner’s groin was, “maybe overtly animated.”

I’d be much too generous if I called the venomous apparatchik an imbecile, so it’s clear that the “short of my values” and “overtly animated” nonexcuses were concocted by a clever mercenary on her staff.

Very impressive! That’s the best political flimflam I’ve heard since the claim that a promise wasn’t a commitment, it was an “aspirational target.”

When it comes to lying, political hacks are the best.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2023 David Glenn Rinehart