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Weak XIII

26 March 2018

No. 4,743 (cartoon)

I’m going to have the last word.

You just did; goodbye.

27 March 2018

Snake People

I read The New York Times almost every day for reasons that have nothing to do with the publisher’s specious claim that the rag contains “all the news that’s fit to print.” No; I read it for the typos. The editors don’t let many slip by them, but when one does it’s a humdinger of a doozy.

For example, a couple of years ago they listed the Internet address of a prominent Muslim leader as Pimpin4Paradise786, not imamsuhaibwebb. Oops!

Recently, the Times mentioned “the Time of Shedding and Cold Rocks,” not “the Great Recession.” Editorial sloppiness and the wonders of modern technology were the predictable culprits.

One of the journalists used software that automatically “corrected” typing. In another related example, “Millennials” became “Snake People.” I have no idea why any journalist would want this feature, but then I wouldn’t even pretend that I knew anything about journalism.

A senior editor spoiled all the fun by ordering the offending software removed, but I’m not worried. There are more great typos where those came from.

28 March 2018

My Appointment with Bennu

I just wrote “Bennu” on my calendar for 22 September. At the moment, that’s the only thing I have planned for 2135. Bennu’s an asteroid half a kilometer wide that may slam into Earth then. Or, it may not.

I brought this possibility up with my physician during my physical this morning. She assured me that although I’m in improbably great physical shape, by then I’ll have almost certainly metamorphosed into dust and thus physically impervious to literally anything the universe throws at me.

I find Bennu’s appointment on my calendar curiously reassuring.

29 March 2018

Anglerfish Sex

Theresa is a biologist, so I wasn’t surprised when she suggested that I write about Bad Sex in Nature in addition to Bad Sex in Fiction. And of course she’s already picked the winner. She went on to tell me about the anglerfish, where mating literally means becoming one.

Forever.

The ritual begins when male presses his lips against the female’s side. That sounds like foreplay, but it isn’t. That’s the end as well as the beginning; that’s how he’ll spend the rest of his life, of which there’s very little. He loses his useless fins, his internal organs dissolve, and he essentially becomes her scrotum who’s useless except to provide sperm. A good lookin’ anglerfish can have a number of former partners hanging off her, but how many scrota does a gal really need? If nothing else, that sounds like a convenient way of keeping track of former (or are they current?) partners.

I rejected both her idea of a Bad Sex in Nature award as well as her preferred candidate. After all, I’ve heard about all sorts of romantic encounters that didn’t go nearly that well.

30 March 2018

Twenty-Five Types of Sex in the Internet Archive

The Internet Archive is a hoarder’s paradise, with trillions of bytes of digital flotsam and jetsam stored on tens of thousands of hard drives, so it was simple to grab twenty-five books with the word “Sex” in the title. I ran the covers through a digital oscilloscope, put them in an elliptical centrifuge, then pushed them out through a six-nine percent intensity filter.

And there you have it, the G-Rated version of Twenty-Five Types of Sex in the Internet Archive. And if someone wants to think “Types” refers to something other than “Typefaces,” that’s his or her prerogative.

31 March 2018

He Can’t Help It, He’s French

Clichés come from somewhere, and I’m always amused if not delighted when they come to life. At the moment, I’m thinking of Guillaume Rey, who was fired from a job as a waiter because he was “combative ... aggressive, rude, and disrespectful.” Rey countered that he lost his job because of “discrimination against my culture” which “tends to be more direct and expressive.” And now for the punchline ...

Rey is French.

The story could have been better or worse depending on your perspective; the article I read made no mention of garlic, personal hygiene, Gitanes, or Gauloises.

1 April 2018

April Fool’s Day

April Fool’s Day has always been my favorite holiday after Thanksgiving, and I suppose it still is if only by default since those are the only two holidays I observe. Sadly, the first day of April seems to have suffered greatly from a one-two punch.

First, what passes for real life seems like a joke and a hoax. It’s certainly not, but after the triumph of the buffoons it seems that way.

And then there’s commercialization. No one’s been able to monetize Thanksgiving except for grocers, but now every business with ten or more people has an April Fool’s “prank” to promote, complete with a barrage of press releases and related hyperbole.

Maybe the alleged holiday is no longer funny, or perhaps the joke’s on me. That’s an amusing possibility!

2 April 2018

Alcohol Awareness Month

Cheryl visited me at the Internet Archive tonight, and wondered aloud why there were little posters here and there announcing, “April is Alcohol Awareness Month.”

“I have no idea,” I said, “Maybe it’s some sort of sponsorship deal with The American Alcohol Council.”

“Who posted them?” she asked.

“I believe it’s one of the women who work in the human resources department,” I replied.

“That makes perfect sense!” she exclaimed. “After all, alcohol is a human resource.”

“I think we should have another drink for Alcohol Awareness Month,” I suggested.

“That’s an excellent idea!” she agreed. “I’m aware of several flavors of alcohol in your studio and soon you will be too!”

Maybe April won’t be that bad after all.

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©2018 David Glenn Rinehart