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Weak XXXIII

13 August 2019

No. 2,402 (cartoon)

You used to be such a pathetic fool.

I was much younger then.

You’ve been degenerating ever since.

14 August 2019

Steve King’s Family Values

Steve King is a reprehensible cretin and proud of it. He’s also a member of congress, where he can fester with his ilk. He usually makes headlines with his overt racism and xenophobia, but recently diversified his ignoramus portfolio by defending rape and incest.

“What if we went back through all the family trees and just pulled out anyone who was a product of rape or incest?” King asked. “Would there be any population of the world left if we did that?”

That was a bit too much for even his comrades in the lunatic fringe, so the knuckle-dragger used the standard defense: complain about fake news, and claim he was misquoted.

“What I actually said was, ‘What if we went back through my family and just pulled out anyone who was a product of rape or incest?’” King lied. “Would there be anyone left in my family if we did that?”

His three sons attending the press conference smiled and nodded in agreement.

The Iowan transformed a revolting gaffe into a family values argument. True, King’s family values are rape and incest, but isn’t incest all about loving your family?

15 August 2019

Dubious Coordinates

When I called Alicia to let her know that I just arrived in Oregon, she said I must visit Lake Unpronounceable.

“Where’s that?” I asked.

“It’s in the central coast a couple of kilometers from the ocean,” she replied.

“Exactly where?”

“It’s near the mouth of the Unspellable River.”

“That’s not very helpful,” I continued. “What’s so great about it, anyway?”

“It’s hard to find, so almost no one goes there,” she explained. “You’ll probably have the place all to yourself!”

I didn’t ask her if I might expect to see wild geese there; I know a wild goose chase when I smell one.

16 August 2019

In and Out of My Mind

In my mind, I don’t have any more grey hairs than I did a few years ago. But outside my mind on the other side of my skull, I do. Funny how that works ...

17 August 2019

Regular versus Frequent

Mabel told me her daughter Helena has been pursuing some guy she’s never met in Wyoming over the Internet with romantic intent. That’s frequently a bad idea, so I wasn’t surprised to hear what happened when they finally met.

Helena was reasonably cautious and talked with him for hours. She tactfully punctuated casual conversations with job interview questions, including asking him about his hygiene. ’twas all for naught, though, for when she met him after he got off the bus he smelled like a polecat who just crawled out of a sewer. Tact went out the window (which was fortunately open), and she said she couldn’t trust anyone who lied about showering regularly.

He protested that he showered every Friday night. He was telling the truth; Mabel should have asked him if he bathed frequently, not regularly. And that was the end of another one of Helena’s beautiful romances that never was. Maybe one day she’ll see that courtship doesn’t really begin until the immediate deliciousness of lust and projection sink into the awkward muck of reality.

18 August 2019

Noisy-le-Grand Tragedy

French restaurant workers and their customers have always enjoyed(?) a hate-hate relationship, but recently things have taken a turn for the worse. A patron at a restaurant in the Paris suburb of Noisy-le-Grand (yes, that’s really the name), shot and killed a waiter because he had to wait too long for his sandwich.

I’m not one of those people who say violence never solved anything; Hitler died before his thousand-year Reich did. But murdering a waiter to get served sooner is unmitigatedly stupid, even for the French. As Aesop said, “A dead waiter brings no food.”

The news report I read called it, “a senseless killing.” That’s hard to dispute since it certainly wasn’t a sensible one. And the moral of the tragic story? Don’t be in the right/wrong place at the right/wrong time? Don’t be French?

C’est la vie ...

19 August 2019

Trail

I saw a wide clearing in the dense rainforest underbrush that appeared to go on for quite some distance. I wasn’t sure if it was safe to explore the parting of the green sea until I came across a reassuring sign posted by the forest authorities: Trail.

I appreciated the official notice. On a wet, soggy afternoon, I was thankful for the unnatural nature.

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©2019 David Glenn Rinehart