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Weak XXI

21 May 2018

No. 4,698 (cartoon)

This is stupid.

You can say that again.

This is stupid.

22 May 2018

Leprechauns and Malaysia Airlines Flight 370

Over four years ago—1,541 days to be exact—Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 flew from Kuala Lumpur to the bottom of the ocean.

Maybe, maybe not. Theories abound; facts don’t.

The latest conjecture: aviation experts speculate that the Captain Zaharie Ahmad Shah depressurized the plane to make everyone except him unconscious, then flew by Penang, his hometown, before suicidally jetting to who knows where. Other aviation specialists disagree, arguing that he too couldn’t have remained conscious long enough to pull that off.

I’m tired of this flimsy flimflam. Since the official investigation ends a week from today, I have decided that, as a newly minted aviation expert, I will finally and conclusively report what happened to the phantom plane.

Leprechauns.

My research shows that the Irish Alcohol Export Board provided all the adult beverages aboard the flight. Everyone including the flight crew was up past their gills in Guinness, Jameson Irish Whiskey, Baileys Irish Cream, et cetera. Experts agree that there can’t have been that many Irish spirits in such a confined space without summoning Irish spirits from the other dimension.

Leprechauns!

That has to be it. It’s obvious; no other explanation makes sense. The bureaucrats running the investigation for over four years haven’t come up with any speculation that’s backed by more data or empirical evidence than my supremely logical conclusion that inebriated mischievous sprites are to blame, so there’s just no point looking for the Boing 777 in this dimension.

That’s that. Who do I invoice?

23 May 2018

My Drinking Problem

Clichés come from somewhere, and it’s true that artists drink lots of wine, musicians drink lots of beer, and writers drink lots of whisky. I’m all of the above; you may draw your own conclusions.

I had my last medical exam over two years ago. My doctor declared that I was in ridiculously good health except for a concern related to my drinking. I saw no reason to get another physical since such a glowing report is a hard act to follow.

I hate to bifurcate between genders, but it really is true that men don’t take care of their health but women do. And so, I followed my mother’s orders and went back to the clinic to let my physician have another gander.

The results were déjà vu all over again. The lab report was almost identical the one from 2016 except that I had lower cholesterol. (Note to self: eat more omelets.) And again, Doctor Wang grilled me on my drinking, and said I had to cut back on my drinking, “or else.”

I nodded my head even though I enjoy drinking too much to ever follow his well-intentioned advice. I’m going to continue to drink constantly all day and all of the night regardless of the health impact. After all, I’ll feel pretty stupid if I’m old and dying of nothing.

It’s finally time for the plot twist and surprise ending. I have low blood salinity because I continually drink water from the large pitcher on my desk. I drink as much beer, wine, and whisky as I want with apparent impunity, and I’m also going continue to quaff liters of water during my waking hours regardless of the health consequences. (Note to self: eat more omelets with extra salt.)

(Unlike some of my other true stories, this one is truly true.)

24 May 2018

We Won!

I can’t really justify my subscription to Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America; the staid rag just reports what every sensible person—or even someone like me—already knows. I stifled a yawn as I read Perfessor Ron Milo’s report that was full of big numbers that wouldn’t surprise any thinking person, ;and me as well for that matter.

The Te Weizmann Institute of Science researcher concluded that although humans comprise maybe a hundredth of a percent of all life on the planet, we’ve nevertheless managed to make half of the plants and five out of every six species of wild animals extinct.

We punch and annihilate above our weight!

But we’re also benevolent, albeit in a self-serving way. We preserve sixty percent of mammals and seventy percent of birds. In captivity. For food. In other words, the future looks bright and there’s nothing to worry about unless you’re not a human or a cow or a pig or a chicken.

I can spend the rest of my life secure in the knowledge that my species has won the survival game; too bad about all of the tasty losers.

25 May 2018

Maritol Head

I went to a party aboard an Icelandic icebreaker tonight. The Maritol is like all of the other icebreakers I’ve been on except for one thing: the head. (For any landlubbers reading this, when you put a bathroom on a boat it becomes a head.)

I was puzzled by the cryptic numeral one scrawled on the toilet seat lid. “One” is colloquial shorthand for urination; “two” means defecation; I wonder if that’s the explanation?

The lid also featured two neatly printed admonitions: “Draining slowly? Let crew know immediately,” and “Absolutely no wet wipes, please.” Neither warning shed any light on the mysterious digit.

The Maritol will soon be sailing away in search of ice, albeit without sails, so I appreciated the enigma for what it was and returned to the deck for more pints of grog.

Unnumbered anchors aweigh!

26 May 2018

The Day

“Back in the day ...” Freddie began.

“Enough of the ‘back in the day’ crap,” I interrupted. “Just when was this day?”

“The second day of June in 1973,” he replied without hesitation.

Zowie! I certainly didn’t see that one coming.

He went on to say that that Saturday was the day his first check as a freelancer arrived in the mail, the first time he used LSD, his only Led Zeppelin concert (at Kezar Stadium here in San Francisco), and the first time he slept with his late wife Evelyn.

Yep, that was the day alright.

Today is the day for me. That’s almost always been the case, and when it’s not then my life as I know it will be over.

27 May 2018

Gay Paree, Here They Come!

Chris and Margaret are off to Gay Paree today to light the trip fantastic. (I don’t know the exact coordinates exactly, but I reckon Gay Paree is within spittin’ distance of Straight Paris.)

I’m happy for them; it’s exactly the kind of excursion I like to see my friends enjoy. For example, I’d feel sorry them if they had to go to Smelley, Alabama, for some tragic reason. And although I hate to admit it, I might be a tad envious if they were exploring Antarctica by helicopter and submarine.

I’ve been to Paris several times, as have they, so I’m sure they’ll have a wonderful time. I’m more than happy to stay in my marvelous environment rather than revisit all the French clichés that make the city of light one of the world’s great amusement parks. I might enjoy the trip if it was an hour or two away on my bicycle, but it’s certainly not worth the expense, discomfort, and humiliating degradation of international travel.

I look forward to their return; we’ll have a pleasant visit sipping the fruits of their wine cellar. They will regale me with tales of barbaric conditions aboard jets crammed with human cattle, surly waiters, thieving merchants, arrogantly odoriferous natives, and worse.

The result: we’ll all take pleasure in their excursion, and I’ll be glad that I saved thousands of dollars by avoiding pain and humiliation. Ooh la la!

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©2018 David Glenn Rinehart