2009 Notebook: Weak XXIII
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5 June 2009
No. 2,489 (cartoon)
I’m not talking to you.


6 June 2009
Missing Girl Found in Sandwich
There’s nothing funny about missing children, so I’d better wipe this twisted little smile off my face right now.

A few days ago, an allegedly drunk John J. Fielding allegedly abducted his eleven-month old daughter Kiah from her mother. Police released a statement cautioning, “There is reason to believe Kiah F. Fielding is in danger and her safety is at risk.”

Here’s how the story ended according to a news report:

Missing baby found in Sandwich
Girl’s father, John Fielding, arrested

As is so often the case, the capitalization tells the story. The traumatized little girl didn’t end up in someone’s lunch. Instead, she was found in safe, albeit distressed, in the town of Sandwich, Massachusetts.

Good for the poor wee bairn. There really is nothing funny about missing children, so I’ll save the baby and mayonnaise joke for another occasion.

7 June 2009
Krispy Kreme Krap
I enjoy a plethora of annoyances, including:

732a: People who intentionally misspell words to be “cute”

732b: People who intentionally misspell words by replacing “c” with “k”

And thus, the Krispy Kreme doughnut franchise doubly annoys me. And thus again, I was pleased—in a petty, little schadenfreude way—when the purveyors of industrial pastries were charged with a disgusting crime.

Government officials in Fairfax County, Virginia, blamed the Krispy Kreme factory in Lorton for clogging sewer lines with, “excessive quantities of highly corrosive wastes, doughnut grease, and other pollutants.” The blockage of doughnut detritus allegedly resulted in the discharge of raw sewage.

The prosecutors may have a hard time proving their case. The remote-control video camera sent into the pipes to collect visual evidence was immobilized by the viscous fat. Nevertheless, I’d bet that the tons of greasy empirical evidence will be more than enough to konvict the krappy kokonspiritors.

8 June 2009
A Penis in Retirement
Nothing happened in my world today, so I’ll mention something that may or may not have happened some forty years ago at a state dinner in Paris, an event hosted by the American ambassador to France to honor Charles deGaulle on the eve of his retirement.

“Your husband has been such a prominent public figure, such a presence on the French and international scene for so many years! How quiet retirement will seem in comparison,” the ambassador’s wife told Madame de Gaulle. “What are you most looking forward to in these retirement years?”

“A penis,” she replied with a demure smile.

And with that, all the other conversations around the table ended abruptly.

Le Grand Charles ended the awkward silence by telling her that the English word she wanted was pronounced ’appiness.

Ah, zee Frawnch, always good for zee laugh énorme!

9 June 2009
Ignoramuses or Ignorami?
Enrico sent me a curt note about my piece on The Cats and Birds War of 1976.

“You ignorante!” he wrote. “The plural of ignoramus is ignoramuses, not ignorami!”

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t; dictionaries disagree. I know better than to argue about spelling or grammar, especially with people like Enrico; he’s studied the English language more since moving here from Milan than I ever will.

Ignoramuses or ignorami? That’s debate bait for an ignoramus!

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10 June 2009
Balut Escapee?
On my way to lunch, I spotted a bird on the pavement. Or maybe bird isn’t the right word. The wee cadaver looked like it came out of someone’s balut. (A balut is a boiled egg with a chicken or duck embryo inside; it’s an Asian delicacy.) The proto-fledgling wasn’t old enough to survive outside the nest; that probably explains why it was dead.

Where did it come from? There’s always the balut theory, but there aren’t many Filipinos in my neighborhood, and even if there were, who would leave the centerpiece of their lunch on the pavement? The birdie corpse was under a tree, but I didn’t see a nest overhead. Maybe the tiny birdie’s mother dropped her offspring from a great height to teach the other chicks a lesson; one can’t overlook such a logical explanation.

My speculation is useless; I don’t even know what flavor of chick I discovered. Maybe I should study birdology. Nah, smells too much like work.

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©2009 David Glenn Rinehart