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Weak XIV

3 April 2026

No. 2,513 (cartoon)

You are unutterably sadistic.

I articulate my sadism quite clearly.

I hope you’ll accept my apology.

4 April 2026

How America Can Be So Miserable?

Here’s my favorite headline d’jour:

How Can America Be So Miserable When It’s So Rich?

The author wrote a long piece chock full o’ statistics to suggest what I could have summarized in an eight-word sentence: There’s no correlation between monetary wealth and satisfaction.

5 April 2026

Two Contemporary [sic] Los Angeles Art Museums

Through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up in The Broad. A couple Broads (Eli and Edythe) founded and funded what sounds like a Skid Row strip club, but it’s much worse: the worst art museum I’ve ever been in.

The huge works in galleries the size of aircraft hangars scream, “LOOK AT HOW RILLY RILLY BIG I AM,” with the implicit message, “Look how much money I must be worth.” I walked into one of the mammoth galleries, spent ten seconds taking in half a dozen oversized pieces, then moved on. They did have a few galleries dedicated to reruns of blue chip artists like Roy Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol, but contemporary art made by artists who died thirty or forty years ago ain’t contemporary art.

I crossed the street to The Museum of Contemporary Art, where most of the work was technically and chronologically contemporary, but of no interest to me. I did see my only good work of the day there, Tony DeLap’s 13 Magic Tricks. Unlike the bombastic tour de farce pieces at The Broad, DeLap’s images were maybe five centimeters square, and they drew me into an intimate distance to see them instead of glancing at the size queens like highway billboards.

And now for the punchline: 13 Magic Tricks at The Museum of Contemporary [sic] Art was made sixty years ago.

But enough whinging and curmudgeonly kvetching. As I learned a long time ago, the only path I know of finding art I like is to make it myself.

6 April 2026

No More Soup for You!

I’m a great guest, and always thank and praise my hosts after a dinner party. My midwestern ethos and manners may have saved my life.

I’m thinking of the late Eric Israel Mercado, who allegedly criticized his girlfriend’s culinary skills, or lack thereof. Apparently, she had thin skin when it came to kitchen critiques. He had thin skin, too: she slit his throat and entombed him under her staircase.

As a result, Trista Ann Spicer is spending fifteen years in prison. By the time she’s released, she should be even more familiar with unpalatable and inedible food.

To end on a positive note, I’m sure that no one will ever cast aspersions on Spicer’s vile vittles again.

7 April 2026

Clitoral Science News

Juanita passed along an article about a significant medical advance: a research associate at Amsterdam University Medical Center used high-energy X-rays to create three-dimensional scans of two female pelvises (obtained from consenting cadavers) to map the complete network of clitoral nerves.

That’s certainly an impressive scientific achievement, even though scientists made the same navigation atlas of the penis some thirty years ago.

I was surprised that Juanita was indifferent to the news. She said it was almost irrelevant since she’d probably never live long enough for a man to be able to find her clitoris, let alone explore it.

8 April 2026

PP by the TP, Winslow, Arizona

I drove for over a thousand kilometers across the desert, and the only thing I remember is another roadside attraction selling tourist crap. That’s of no interest to me, but a guy’s gotta relieve himself. I shall ’splain.

PP by the TP is a business enterprise with an unusual offer: a weary traveler with a full bladder can urinate, or, as a six-year-old might say, “pee-pee” in a portable plastic chemical toilet beside a tiny cement teepee. Apparently, the juvenile humor works: the place has been there for over forty years.

The enterprise is full of Native American iconography, real and imagined, even though it’s outside the boundaries of the sprawling Navajo Nation. And now, it’s time for the punch line: Teepees are from the plains and Great Lakes, not the desert.

I made PP by the TP, Winslow, Arizona, as a visual record of my experience there. It was a memorable escapade as plastic outhouse ovens go, but it sure wasn’t no ayahuasca journey.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2026 David Glenn Rinehart