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Weak XVII

24 April 2026

No. 1,795 (cartoon)

I have so much to give in a romantic relationship.

For example?

Acyclovir, azithromycin, ceftriaxone, and doxycycline.

25 April 2026

Headhunted

Here’s my favorite headline d’jour:

US millionaire big-game hunter dies after being crushed by elephants

The news report I read described seventy-five-year-old Ernie Dosio as a hunter, but the article went on to report that he was really a trophy collector who needed to bag another critter’s head as a prize in his den. The elephants, who’ve been around longer than we have, knew what to do when some psychopath with a rifle came looking for trouble. Crush, squash, squish, smush, mash, scrumple up, flatten into infrathin ... problem solved!

But wait! There’s still that space on the wall in Dosio’s trophy room ... maybe his executor will take ol’ Ernie’s head to a taxidermist then complete the exhibit.

26 April 2026

Only I

“Did AI write this malarky for you?” Michelle asked.

“No A here,” I replied. “It’s all written by only I, hence the plethora of typos.”

That might sound vaguely industrious, but that’s not the case. I’m happy to have a machine wash my clothes for me, and I’d be more than happy to have a robot write for me, but I haven’t found one dumb enough to convincingly emulate my piss poor prose.

(As a semantic bonus, Karel Capek used the Czech word “robota” in a 1920 play. In English, it means “forced labor” or “serf.” And that’s where we got the word “robot.”)

27 April 2026

It All Disappears When You Die

Andy wasn’t impressed when I bragged that I was a high school graduate.

“I’m glad I didn’t waste time going to high school,” he replied smugly. “You admitted that you can’t remember any calculus or Russian, and that half the stuff in your history classes was wrong.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, “but Interlochen was also where I was introduced to the wonderful world of being an artist. As a result, I’ve enjoyed a charmed life of indolence and indulgences ever since.”

“I still say formal education is a waste of time,” he insisted. “You spend all that time and money to learn all that ephemera, but then it all disappears the second you die.”

He had a point, albeit a stupid one. As I quoted Arthur James Balfour a few months ago, “Nothing matters much, and in the end nothing matters at all.”

28 April 2026

Runners Can’t Drink Beer

I don’t pay any attention to sports, but even I noticed that Sabastian Sawe set a new athletic record when he finished the London Marathon in just under two hours. I thought about that phenomenal feat on my bike ride through the desert this morning.

I glanced at the speedometer on my watch, and, after some basic figgerin’, I realized that I was pedaling as fast as he ran. I looked at the white stripes zipping by me, and couldn’t imagine anyone running that fast for forty meters, let alone over forty kilometers.

I was incredulous, but not impressed. Sawe’s achievement was obviously remarkable, but I wasn’t surprised that someone had to be faster than hundreds of billions of other humans by a few seconds. The people who have always pleasantly astonished me are the artists, musicians, and writers who create something amazing from nothing.

I might have been able to complete a marathon faster than Sawe, but I quit running because my beer kept foaming over. Yep, the artist’s life is the life for me!

29 April 2026

Good Riddance

“Omit needless words.”

As is obvious if you’ve read more than a few paragraphs of this drivel, I never heeded William Strunk Junior’s advice. On a positive note, I have done rather well eliminating needless possessions. Recently, this involved going through boxes of Serious Photographs, all of which I printed over thirty-five years ago.

I was surprised by what I found. I remembered being a great photographer in my twenties, but the evidence says otherwise. Instead of asking myself if the images were pretty good, I only kept the ones with which I’d be satisfied if I made them yesterday. As a result, I stacked most of them on the dining room table before dumping them in the recycling bin.

I was also surprised by what I didn’t find. I didn’t see many of the images I remember fondly. Even though the prints are probably lost, I’ll always be able to see the images; I keep ’em between my ears. I have hundreds of physical photographs I quite like, so losing a few prints is trivial.

I jettisoned four boxes of needless possessions; good riddance. Artists and doctors have at least one thing in common: we look better when we bury our mistakes.

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©2026 David Glenn Rinehart