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Weak XXXVI

3 September 2025

No. 7,991 (cartoon)

We can’t go on like this forever.

That’s encouraging.

I thought you’d be dead by now.

4 September 2025

Losing My Acupuncture Virginity

“May I put a few needles in your ear?”

I can’t remember how many times I’ve heard that line. My usual response is, “That’s an interesting proposition; care to buy me a couple of drinks first while I think about it?” That’s always been a deal killer ... until today.

I was waiting for Isabella at Piñon Community Acupuncture when Cat, one of the pokers, asked me if she could stick three needles in my ear. This time it was different.

Cat, dba Dr. Catherine Maxwell, had such a lovely presence that I had to say yes. She smiled, jabbed three little metal pieces in my earlobe, then went back to her other acupuncture patients.

When Isabella was ready to leave half an hour later, Cat repossessed the needles in my ear. I confided that I was an acupuncture virgin when I walked into her clinic, thanked her, and added, “They say you never forget the first time.”

She smiled a nice little smile; she may or may not have winked.

5 September 2025

Giorgio Armani, Disgusted and Dead

Giorgio Armani died yesterday. He’s one of those uomini who can make anything twenty times more expensive just by slapping his John Henry, er, Giorgio Armani on it.

You may be surprised—I know I am—to hear that I have an Armani coat. I’d never pay an inflated price for such a jacket, but I found it abandoned on a bench, so the price was right.

I always thought flaunting expensive possessions was a sign of affluenza, and read that ol’ Giorgio may have felt the same. Here’s my favorite Armani quote from his obit.

“Luxury disgusts me.”

6 September 2025

Tasty Birth Control

Why are we surrounded by so many cretins? One explanation is their mistaken belief that birth control makes sex less pleasurable. In fact, screaming three-month-olds make sex less pleasurable.

That’s why I was pleased when I perused the 28 August 2025 issue of Cell Metabolism. Ultra-processed food adversely affects sperm production and health. Birth control is the best investment one can make, so frozen factory pizza and hot dogs are the perfect—and cheap!—dinner entrées on a romantic evening.

Now that’s what I call amore!

7 September 2025

Texas Head Games

It’s too early for the 2025 Darwin Awards, but Bernie told me he found a nominee. The story involves two friends shooting each other in the head. With rifles. In a suburban living home. Yes, really.

Aaron Prout was visiting his friend Sean O’Donnell when they decided to play the redneck parlour game using a Kevlar helmet, which is strong but not bulletproof. That proved to be irrelevant. O’Donnell was charged with murder after he missed the helmet and blew his buddy’s brains out.

Did I mention that alcohol was involved? I did not since that’s almost a given.

Did I mention the buffoonery took place in Texas? I should have, since that would explain why the death wasn’t newsworthy.

Am I done with the rhetorical questions? I am; you’re welcome.

Even though Prout took himself out of the gene pool, thus contributing to human evolution, that alone wasn’t enough to earn one of the prestigious Darwin Awards. Texans get drunk and do fatally stupid things all the time, and shenanigans like shooting your pal in the head are too common to merit a news story, let alone an international honor.

8 September 2025

Looking for a Drunk Driver

I was just meandering down a quiet sidewalk when a police car pulled up beside me.

“I stopped you because I’m looking for a drunk driver,” the rozzer explained.

I smiled and froze: this was my first encounter with a bent copper. Why was he looking for a drunk driver? And why did he think I was qualified? I didn’t have to ponder for long; I remembered to never argue with a cop.

“You got it, brother,” I agreed. “I’m sober at the moment, but if you got the bottle, I’ll punch the throttle.”

He scowled and sped off without replying. I guess I shouldn’t have been so informal until we’d had a couple drinks. Oh well, at least I didn’t end up in the hoosegow.

9 September 2025

Art School Classroom

Bernie liked my photograph of the art school classroom, featuring huge drawings of some damn skull, some damn Roman—or Greek?—marble head, and the taxidermied head of some damn horny-headed mountain varmint. He said he understood the art school clichés of head sketches, but couldn’t understand why the instructors mounted the critter’s furry bust.

I knew the reason, so I ’splained it to him.

Taxidermists are one of the strongest political groups here in New Mexico, and they lobbied and bribed legislators to pass a law requiring art schools to have one stuffed creature (or part thereof) in every classroom.

I’m not calling the image art because it would need to be part of a series to work effectively, and that’s such an easy, obvious idea that I’ll never do it.

(On an important unrelated note, if you’re ever chased by a pack of angry taxidermists, do not play dead.)

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2025 David Glenn Rinehart