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Weak XXV|

26 June 2026

No. 9,576 (cartoon)

Money talks.

Don’t believe a word it says.

Heretic!

27 June 2026

Mel Brooks’ Big C

Mel Brooks got the Big C yesterday, and fortunately it was centum, not cancer. Yep, ol’ Mel just celebrated his hundredth birthday. I always thought his movies were full of bad jokes, stupid gags, and puerile humor; that’s why I liked them so much. Good on ya, Mel!

I was thinking about writing about the significance of living for a century, but realized that I don’t have enough information. I plan on penning that entry when I too am a hundred years old, if there are still pens then. (How’s that for a great procrastination strategy!)

28 June 2026

Katsuya Uechi’s Secret Sauce

Here’s my favorite headline d’jour:

Katsuya Uechi, pioneering sushi chef and creator of spicy tuna crispy rice, dies

I wonder how he got the fish to stay fishy and the rice to get crispy at the same time? I guess that’s the kind of culinary engineering that made him a foody genius worthy of an obit in a national rag.

29 June 2026

Battleship in Drydock

A number of my friends* have been asking how my naval warfare campaign is going ever since I sunk one hundred thousand ships and submarines on 3 October 2023. Oh, the humanity, sort of. Recently, I’ve all but abandoned my admiral’s riding crop to play the bastardized version of Scrabble that runs on the same technoslab.

Having fizzled out after sending over one hundred and thirty-eight thousand vessels to the bottom of the digital ocean, I’ll throw a little retirement party for myself. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

*As a statistical aside, the number is zero.

30 June 2026

Crap, Crapola, Utter Crap, and More Crap

I ducked into the library to get out of the rain, and grabbed a copy of the Summer 2026 issue of Artforum to pass the time, and see if there might be anything of interest on any of the two hundred pages.

There wasn’t.

I didn’t find anything of any aesthetic merit, but I nevertheless found the exercise satisfying. I confirmed that I wasn’t missing anything breathing my own fumes in my little studio bubble, so that’s where I went after the squall passed.

1 July 2026

Killer French Fries and Crisps

Flint, Michigan, is in the headlines again, and, as usual, it’s bad news. A local couple fed their young son a diet of French fries and potato chips; he weighed over a hundred kilograms when he died before his eighth birthday. The parents have been charged with murder; I have nothing to add to that.

I’ll keep that tragedy in mind when my doctor tells me that I have x months to live. I’d already planned on hastening my demise by buying my first motorcycle. Now I’ll add French fries and potato chips to my goodbye diet of pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, and beer.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2026 David Glenn Rinehart