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Weak XXXVI

3 September 2013

No. 5,642 (cartoon)

Stop lying.

Then stop asking questions.

4 September 2013

We’re All Martians

Where did life on earth originate?

Mars!

That’s Steven Benner’s theory. The Westheimer Institute for Science and Technology geochemist postulated that life originated on Mars, then bits of it got blown to Earth by volcanoes, meteorite impacts, or some other damned cosmic thing (my words, not his).

I’ve always maintained that we’re all immigrants except for some indiginous Africans. And now I’m not sure about them: they could be Martians too.

5 September 2013

That’s Amore!

Hilary’s back from a three-month business trip to Napoli with stories to tell, all of them bad. Surrounded by the world’s best pickpockets, she was in a constant state of paranoia. The heat was oppressive. The streets were full of rotting garbage. Everyone was rude. She doesn’t eat animal products or gluten, so she had to survive on pine nuts. And so on.

She’s almost certainly exaggerating, and I’m glad she is. I want my friends to be happy, but not so exhilarated as to make me envious.

6 September 2013

Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Paint Spill

Someone spilled a big blob of paint near my studio. Since I photographed paint, does that make the photograph more artistic? Would I have photographed it if it was oatmeal?

7 September 2013

Not Drinking Too Much

Rodney asked me if I drank too much.

I knew the answer because I know everyone’s definition of “drinking too much” is “drinking more than they do.”

“It’s hard to say,” I lied. “I’ve gone over two hundred days without touching a drop of alcohol.”

“Really?!” he exclaimed.

“Obviously not all in a row,” I replied.

8 September 2013

My New Keyboard

I have a new computer keyboard that goes clickety-click when I type. I like the aural feedback; that way I can tell if I missed hitting a key. In practice, though, it’s not really any louder than my old keyboard since I rarely have anything worth typing.

9 September 2013

Channeling Wile E. Coyote

Carlos A. Garcia died last night when he lost control of his car on an elevated highway. The automobile flew over the guardrail and landed on the adjacent railroad tracks. Ten seconds later a speeding passenger train smashed head on into the car, tearing it in half and sending Garcia flying sixty meters. (He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.)

The young man died just a week before his twenty-third birthday. The tragedy ...

Who am I kidding? The idiot was recklessly weaving in and out of traffic at a hundred and fifty clicks an hour before managing to crash his car over the railing and onto the rails. He had the rest of his life—about ten seconds—to contemplate his stupidity and mortality as he stared into the headlights of the oncoming train. Garcia is one of the few people to ever experience, albeit for a few seconds, what Wile E. Coyote felt like.

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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart