2004 Notebook: Weak XVII
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24 April 2004
No. 1,780 (cartoon)
You can’t know how much you hurt me.

I wish I could.

You’re sick.

25 April 2004
Dog-sniffing Drugs
Ferdinand was complaining about the indignities of immigration after his trip to Brazil when he went into a tirade about “dog-sniffing drugs.”

“Those little customs beagles never find anything,” I said, “Just stick chocolate in everything; it alway confuses ’em.”

“You didn’t hear me,” Ferdinand corrected, “I said dog-sniffing drugs. Some Indian guy gave me some voodoo jungle juice at a party in Sao Paulo, and the next thing I knew I was crawling around on my hands and knees smelling smelly street dogs.”

“You shouldn’t use recreational drugs unless they’re from a reputable brewery or distillery,” I advised.

I passed Ferdinand a frosty Rainier Ale; he soon calmed down.

26 April 2004
Big Tree Theory
Some clever scientists have concluded, after rigorous study, that no tree can grow taller than one hundred and thirty meters. I don’t know much about science in general or tall bushes in particular, but I believe it has something to do with evaporation from the upper extremities sucking water from the ground up the tree arteries. (Tree veins?) Or something like that.

Of course, none of this matters much except to the scientists, who got lots of money to climb some really big trees. The research tells us how large trees may have grown in the past, but in the future any tree big enough to be seen by a timber company surveyor won’t live to reach anything near its maximum theoretical height.

27 April 2004
Omelettes for Breakfast
I called Juliana and invited her out for an adventure.

“What kind of adventure?” she asked.

“I didn’t have anything in mind,” I replied. “Let’s improvise. With you, even chewing broken glass could be fun.”

She accepted my invitation, and asked me to meet her at her studio.

I rode to her warehouse, rang the bell, and waited for the automatic door to open. A few seconds later, I heard an enormous crash followed by a shower of broken glass. I looked to my left, and saw that someone had thrown a large, glass jug that smashed on the pavement a couple of meters behind me.

It turns out that “someone” turned out to be Juliana, and she hadn’t thrown the jug, she’d dropped it from her third-floor window.

“There’s something for you to chew on!” she laughed as she leaned out the window.

“And good morning to you, too!” I said.

She threw down a broom, and I swept up the glass into a neat pile.

28 April 2004
Cobain’s CDD
Kurt Cobain died just over a decade ago. Most people seem to think he died because he blew his head off with a shotgun, but that’s not really true. Blowing his brains out was the symptom, not the problem.

Cobain suffered from Creativity Deficit Disorder. I think he was lazy; he chose to eliminate the problem instead of doing the hard work necessary to correct it.

29 April 2004
Died of Death
Dr. Lusardi enjoys autopsies with the same enthusiasm other people reserve for things they really, really enjoy. And so it was that she reported at great length about a recent master class.

“The guy was brilliant!” she enthused. “He was cutting here and slicing there just like a master sushi chef on speed. The highlight was when he pulled the tongue out through the chest; I’ve never seen that before. That was incredible.”

“What did he die of?” I asked.

“He was ninety-seven, what do you think?” Dr. Lusardi replied. “He died of death.”

30 April 2004
Stupid Dog Story
Jamie named her dog Ezra because she met him at the dog pound.

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©2004 David Glenn Rinehart