Apologies and excuses:
From Dr.Hannibal Lecter
Hi, friends,
This is Dr. Lecter—or, as many of you know me, Hannibal, or H-ball. I am writing to you because a few people have been talking about some unsavory (to be honest, it’s all savory—but this is not something I intend to make light of) things I’ve done in the past. I wanted to say, in my own words, directly, to all of you, that I am so sorry for my long history of cannibalism.
When I set out to become a psychiatrist, I did it to help people (and to pay off some medical-school debts—sheesh!), and as I grew my practice I swore that my office would be a place of trust, empathy, and emotional vulnerability. But that emotional vulnerability often led to crying, which, to me, is just face seasoning.
I am so sad to learn that I have hurt even one of you. Anybody who knows me knows that I want to do right by everyone, so to learn that my actions—specifically, eating humans—were ever at anybody’s expense makes my heart hurt almost as much as when I ate that competitive hot-dog eater.
As my career took off and my appetite grew, I started to lose touch with humanity, and the only real connection I had to people was digestive. In no way do I want to defend what I’ve done, but it was a different time. This was all before whatever Nutella is—this was back when our only snack was quaaludes, back when we looked the other way when someone did something wrong. It was the early nineties, the mid-nineties, and the late nineties. It was the two-thousands and then a few times it was 2019.
I want to assure all of you that I am learning and growing. I have grown because of the work that other people before me put into themselves right before I ate them.
It is my responsibility as a citizen of this world and as a psychiatrist to look inward—not with the eyes of the stomach, but with the eyes of a head, which I will no longer refer to as “hors d’oeuvres” or “person caviar.” I will make a concerted effort to better myself, to learn from all of you, and to become the man whose nickname is no longer “Hannibal the Cannibal” but, rather, “Lecter the Reflector.”
Finally, I want to thank each and every one of you for calling me out and calling me in. I can’t imagine how scary it is to confront someone who might eat you. It must be how David felt with Goliath, or how marbles feel around Hungry Hungry Hippos. I am so glad that you brought this to my attention and I am, again, so sorry to have hurt anybody, especially my surviving friends whom I respect and cherish so dearly (but have not been drawn to gustatorially—nothing personal).
I just wanted to thank you again for reading this. It means the world. I can’t wait to have you all for dinner. And, no, not like that. I mean eat you.
XO H.L.
Why not to go running
It’s too early in the morning. I would go for a run, but I also believe that I need sleep and deserve to keep lying in bed, indefinitely.
It’s too late at night. I could go for a run, but I worked hard today, so never mind.
I recently read that you should eat breakfast before you work out. Your body needs fuel. I really want to go for a run, but the thing is my run will actually be better if I eat a full English breakfast beforehand.
Wow, I just finished an incredible plate of eggs and beans. The time is right for a run, but running with a full stomach can lead to indigestion, so I’ll need to wait several weeks.
My phone says that it might rain in ten hours.
It’s windy.
It’s so cold, and I own a really soft fleece blanket. According to research from a team of Danish scientists, I should curl up under it instead of going for a run.
It’s so hot. A study by Swedish scientists concluded that running when it’s hot is bad. Yes, bad no matter what, even if you wear a hat or have one of those belts with tiny water bottles attached to it. I believe the study also said that those belts are confusing and make you look like a water officer.
I’m supposed to meet a friend in six hours. If I go for a run, I might enjoy it so much that I end up running for the full six hours. I’m a good friend and I don’t want to be late, so even though I would love to go for a run I will not.
I already took a shower today. If I go for a run, I will have to shower a second time, and that would use too much water. I care about the environment, so I will abstain from running.
I have no clean running clothes.
I have too many cute running outfits and I can’t choose which one to put on. Instead, I will continue to wear my nightgown.
I think I hear a parade outside. The people may need my running path, so I will cede it to them.
I think I hear a high-school track team outside. I will be generous and allow these worthy youths the use of the entire running path, even after they have left it.
I think I hear something crushing metal outside? Like, some kind of construction-related grinding?
Possible floods.
I might be getting sick. I’m not sick yet, but I’m getting that feeling in the back of my nose, where it transitions to the ring-a-ding section, also known as the uvula. Instead of running, I should really get into bed and let my immune system do its good, preventative work. I’m sorry, but that’s what I read in my self-published anti-running zine, “Simply Stay in Bed, Plus.”
There will be people with big dogs. I don’t have a problem with big dogs, but I like little dogs better and people usually take their little dogs for walks later in the day. At least, that’s what I’ve been noticing in my neighborhood. One of them even wears a denim jacket!
The little dogs used to come out at around five, but lately it’s been more like six, so I’m going to check my e-mail.
Actually, sometimes it’s more like seven.
Yikes, that was so much e-mail. Unfortunately, now it’s dark out, and running in the dark, as we all know, isn’t safe. Maybe I should go to the gym.
Oops, I forgot that the gym exposes me to germs and a spirited exercise community. For my health and emotional well-being, I regret that I cannot enter the gym.
It’s time to watch “General Hospital” on Hulu.
All, copyright,The New Yorker Magazine,Conde-Nast 2022
Some mirth
Re: Some mirth
From a cross-country trip:
" Driving across the Midwest, I saw one Trump 2024 sign after another—this while the election was an entire three years away. “You know you’re in a place that’s inhospitable to liberals when you see fireworks stores,” Adam said in rural Indiana as we passed one powder keg after another.
“Fireworks are guns for children,” I observed.
“They’re the gateway drug,” Adam agreed.
" Driving across the Midwest, I saw one Trump 2024 sign after another—this while the election was an entire three years away. “You know you’re in a place that’s inhospitable to liberals when you see fireworks stores,” Adam said in rural Indiana as we passed one powder keg after another.
“Fireworks are guns for children,” I observed.
“They’re the gateway drug,” Adam agreed.
-
jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Re: Some mirth
Clever stuff, Steve! 
With all that's going on, I needed something like this.
At this point, I'm seriously wondering if TFG can even win the nomination with all his baggage.
With all that's going on, I needed something like this.
At this point, I'm seriously wondering if TFG can even win the nomination with all his baggage.
Re: Some mirth
Dr.Fauci's latest reports on the health of GOP Senators per The Borowitz Report:
Fauci Defends Calling G.O.P. Senator a Moron: “I’m Just Following the Science”
By Andy Borowitz
January 11, 2022
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—After being heard on a hot mike calling a Republican senator a moron, Dr. Anthony Fauci defended his decision by saying that he was “just following the science.”
The esteemed virologist said that, in calling Senator Roger Marshall, of Kansas, a moron, “I didn’t mean to offend. I was just trying to be accurate from a scientific standpoint.”
“As a scientist, I believe it’s important to use the correct nomenclature,” Fauci said. “You need to call a virus a virus, and a bacterium a bacterium. In this same way, I am confident that I was correct in calling Senator Marshall a moron.”
Fauci said that he does not use the word “moron” capriciously, but only after extensive scientific experimentation proves that it applies.
“Take Rand Paul, for example,” Fauci said. “I didn’t determine that he was a moron until after forty-five seconds of hearing him speak.”
Fauci Testifies That Legalizing Marijuana Would Help People Who Have to Listen to Ted Cruz
By Andy Borowitz
April 1, 2022
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Adding his voice to the movement to legalize cannabis at the federal level, Dr. Anthony Fauci testified that marijuana could be helpful to people who have to listen to Senator Ted Cruz speak.
“Medically speaking, there is no way to completely alleviate the pain of hearing Ted Cruz’s voice,” Fauci told the Senate. “But, anecdotally, I can tell you that marijuana helps.”
Fauci said that a septuagenarian man who had previously suffered while listening to Cruz noted “marked improvement” when he ingested marijuana prior to another encounter.
“The results were dramatic,” he said. “His feelings of anger, depression, and despair were all greatly reduced.”
“Sitting here before you today, I can tell you that people are breaking the law in order to survive experiencing Ted Cruz,” he said. “They should be allowed to come out of the shadows.”
Fauci Defends Calling G.O.P. Senator a Moron: “I’m Just Following the Science”
By Andy Borowitz
January 11, 2022
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—After being heard on a hot mike calling a Republican senator a moron, Dr. Anthony Fauci defended his decision by saying that he was “just following the science.”
The esteemed virologist said that, in calling Senator Roger Marshall, of Kansas, a moron, “I didn’t mean to offend. I was just trying to be accurate from a scientific standpoint.”
“As a scientist, I believe it’s important to use the correct nomenclature,” Fauci said. “You need to call a virus a virus, and a bacterium a bacterium. In this same way, I am confident that I was correct in calling Senator Marshall a moron.”
Fauci said that he does not use the word “moron” capriciously, but only after extensive scientific experimentation proves that it applies.
“Take Rand Paul, for example,” Fauci said. “I didn’t determine that he was a moron until after forty-five seconds of hearing him speak.”
Fauci Testifies That Legalizing Marijuana Would Help People Who Have to Listen to Ted Cruz
By Andy Borowitz
April 1, 2022
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Adding his voice to the movement to legalize cannabis at the federal level, Dr. Anthony Fauci testified that marijuana could be helpful to people who have to listen to Senator Ted Cruz speak.
“Medically speaking, there is no way to completely alleviate the pain of hearing Ted Cruz’s voice,” Fauci told the Senate. “But, anecdotally, I can tell you that marijuana helps.”
Fauci said that a septuagenarian man who had previously suffered while listening to Cruz noted “marked improvement” when he ingested marijuana prior to another encounter.
“The results were dramatic,” he said. “His feelings of anger, depression, and despair were all greatly reduced.”
“Sitting here before you today, I can tell you that people are breaking the law in order to survive experiencing Ted Cruz,” he said. “They should be allowed to come out of the shadows.”
Re: Some mirth
The joys of parenthood:
I’m gonna spend some time with [my family]. . . . It’s not always about what I want. It’s about what we want as a family.
—Tom Brady, January 24, 2022.
These past two months I have realized my place is still on the field.
—Tom Brady, forty-eight days later.
I’m gonna spend some time with [my family]. . . . It’s not always about what I want. It’s about what we want as a family.
—Tom Brady, January 24, 2022.
These past two months I have realized my place is still on the field.
—Tom Brady, forty-eight days later.
Re: Some mirth
Tax Day coming.So, from the New Yorker Magazine today:
Here at the I.R.S., we know everything about the money you make—but do you? Let’s find out! Take this quiz, created for us by a company that spends millions of dollars to keep us from simply filing your taxes for you.
Did you receive a W-2 from your employer? We know that you did, but we really like to hear you say it.
Did you receive a 1099? If so, this quiz is about to get a lot harder.
What was your marital status as of December 31, 2021? Remember, having a “work spouse” doesn’t count.
Hmm, that’s interesting—you said that you’re married, but you’re not wearing a ring. Did you lose it, or did you sell it? If you sold it, you’ll need to report that income to us.
How can we see that you’re not wearing a ring, you ask? Ha ha, because we’re all-seeing and all-knowing! Now stop asking questions and finish answering ours.
Did you buy a house last year? If you did, please tell us how. We’ve been outbid ten times in the past three months, and we’re very close to giving up.
Did you contribute to any retirement funds? If so, why? The planet is dying—spend your money like it’s the end of days!
Did you pay down any student loans? This won’t change anything, but we wanted to remind you that, on top of everything else, you still have student-loan debt.
Tell us about any medical expenses you incurred last year. We want you to relive all your most recent trauma, then we’ll just recommend that you take the standard deduction regardless.
If you sold a couple hundred dollars of stock last year, exactly how much did you sell? Please round up to the nearest thousandth of a dollar, even though that kind of currency doesn’t physically exist.
If you sold more than ten million dollars of stock last year, you probably have some good ways of not letting anyone find out. We won’t tell if you don’t tell!
Now time to talk about your income. How much money did you make last year? Please include everything: wages, checks from Grandma, any change you found on the sidewalk—everything.
Do you get paid in cash that you don’t report? Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble—we just want to know exactly how much you’ve been hiding from us, and what part of your house you keep it in.
If you made barely enough to scrape by last year, fair warning: you’re probably going to owe us big time.
If you made more than a hundred million dollars last year, we very likely don’t know about it, because you’re smartly keeping it in an offshore tax haven. Good for you!
If you made a hundred and twenty-one billion dollars last year, feel free to pay us only ten per cent of that, and then tell everyone on Twitter that you’re a big rich hero.
Finally, given all the above information, exactly how much money do you owe us? Before you ask—yes, we could certainly tell you, but we simply don’t want to.
Oh, and don’t forget: if you’ve made one single mistake on this, we’ll make your life a living hell. Good luck!
Here at the I.R.S., we know everything about the money you make—but do you? Let’s find out! Take this quiz, created for us by a company that spends millions of dollars to keep us from simply filing your taxes for you.
Did you receive a W-2 from your employer? We know that you did, but we really like to hear you say it.
Did you receive a 1099? If so, this quiz is about to get a lot harder.
What was your marital status as of December 31, 2021? Remember, having a “work spouse” doesn’t count.
Hmm, that’s interesting—you said that you’re married, but you’re not wearing a ring. Did you lose it, or did you sell it? If you sold it, you’ll need to report that income to us.
How can we see that you’re not wearing a ring, you ask? Ha ha, because we’re all-seeing and all-knowing! Now stop asking questions and finish answering ours.
Did you buy a house last year? If you did, please tell us how. We’ve been outbid ten times in the past three months, and we’re very close to giving up.
Did you contribute to any retirement funds? If so, why? The planet is dying—spend your money like it’s the end of days!
Did you pay down any student loans? This won’t change anything, but we wanted to remind you that, on top of everything else, you still have student-loan debt.
Tell us about any medical expenses you incurred last year. We want you to relive all your most recent trauma, then we’ll just recommend that you take the standard deduction regardless.
If you sold a couple hundred dollars of stock last year, exactly how much did you sell? Please round up to the nearest thousandth of a dollar, even though that kind of currency doesn’t physically exist.
If you sold more than ten million dollars of stock last year, you probably have some good ways of not letting anyone find out. We won’t tell if you don’t tell!
Now time to talk about your income. How much money did you make last year? Please include everything: wages, checks from Grandma, any change you found on the sidewalk—everything.
Do you get paid in cash that you don’t report? Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble—we just want to know exactly how much you’ve been hiding from us, and what part of your house you keep it in.
If you made barely enough to scrape by last year, fair warning: you’re probably going to owe us big time.
If you made more than a hundred million dollars last year, we very likely don’t know about it, because you’re smartly keeping it in an offshore tax haven. Good for you!
If you made a hundred and twenty-one billion dollars last year, feel free to pay us only ten per cent of that, and then tell everyone on Twitter that you’re a big rich hero.
Finally, given all the above information, exactly how much money do you owe us? Before you ask—yes, we could certainly tell you, but we simply don’t want to.
Oh, and don’t forget: if you’ve made one single mistake on this, we’ll make your life a living hell. Good luck!
Re: Some mirth
Absolutely brilliant!Rach3 wrote: ↑Thu Apr 28, 2022 3:35 pmThe late genius Robin Williams on golf :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caLYA6fLOyg ( 90 secs.)
Re: Some mirth
Stephen Colbert Reacts to the Supreme Court Leak
“Congratulations, ladies, your decisions are being made by four dudes and a woman who thinks ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ is a rom-com,” Colbert said.
A freebie from the N. Y. Times sharing app:
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/04/arts ... =url-share
“Congratulations, ladies, your decisions are being made by four dudes and a woman who thinks ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ is a rom-com,” Colbert said.
A freebie from the N. Y. Times sharing app:
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/04/arts ... =url-share
Re: Some mirth
Daily Shouts, New Yorker Magazine
Ultra-Low-Budget N.Y.C. Tours
By Jenny Kroik
May 13, 2022
Tourists are pouring back into New York, but, with the pandemic and high inflation, budgets can be tight. Why not try one of these fun discount tours of the city?
The Most Disgusting Thing: A Scavenger Hunt
Can you find the most repulsive item in town? (What guests had to say about the tour: “I’ve never smelled anything like this before.” —Pamela P.; “Why is this liquid moving toward me?” —Rick S.)
Can’t afford dinner on a boat? Why not try Sandwich on a Barge!
Experience the same stunning views and river breezes, plus join Captain Saul and his crew as they deliver crates to ikea!
Do you love extreme sports? Do you enjoy photographing awe-inspiring natural phenomena?
Two people opening up sewer cover to find monster.
Tag along with the Fatberg Chasers, and track the mobile fatty chunk that is clogging our sewers!
Escape Room: D.M.V.
People waiting in chairs at the D.M.V.
In a game of problem-solving, cunning, and teamwork, you must wait for your number to be called so you can escape the D.M.V. The excitement is literally unbearable!
Rat King Safari
Go on a journey through the city’s subway tunnels and sewers searching for the elusive beast.
What’s This Line?
People waiting outside on a line.
Get dropped off at random lines around the city, and enjoy waiting for hours before discovering what the line is for! Is it a line for the Metropolitan Museum? Or for eight-hundred-dollar sneakers? Perhaps for a covid test? Or maybe you’re just waiting for the bus? The mystery (like the line) never ends!
Alcove Broadway
Can’t afford a Broadway show? Come on over to Rick’s kitchen and hear his neighbor, a real Broadway chorus singer, practice the same three lines of a song while in the shower! Bravo! Encore!
Ultra-Low-Budget N.Y.C. Tours
By Jenny Kroik
May 13, 2022
Tourists are pouring back into New York, but, with the pandemic and high inflation, budgets can be tight. Why not try one of these fun discount tours of the city?
The Most Disgusting Thing: A Scavenger Hunt
Can you find the most repulsive item in town? (What guests had to say about the tour: “I’ve never smelled anything like this before.” —Pamela P.; “Why is this liquid moving toward me?” —Rick S.)
Can’t afford dinner on a boat? Why not try Sandwich on a Barge!
Experience the same stunning views and river breezes, plus join Captain Saul and his crew as they deliver crates to ikea!
Do you love extreme sports? Do you enjoy photographing awe-inspiring natural phenomena?
Two people opening up sewer cover to find monster.
Tag along with the Fatberg Chasers, and track the mobile fatty chunk that is clogging our sewers!
Escape Room: D.M.V.
People waiting in chairs at the D.M.V.
In a game of problem-solving, cunning, and teamwork, you must wait for your number to be called so you can escape the D.M.V. The excitement is literally unbearable!
Rat King Safari
Go on a journey through the city’s subway tunnels and sewers searching for the elusive beast.
What’s This Line?
People waiting outside on a line.
Get dropped off at random lines around the city, and enjoy waiting for hours before discovering what the line is for! Is it a line for the Metropolitan Museum? Or for eight-hundred-dollar sneakers? Perhaps for a covid test? Or maybe you’re just waiting for the bus? The mystery (like the line) never ends!
Alcove Broadway
Can’t afford a Broadway show? Come on over to Rick’s kitchen and hear his neighbor, a real Broadway chorus singer, practice the same three lines of a song while in the shower! Bravo! Encore!
Re: Some mirth
Now you've exposed my thrill-seeking real life in the Big Apple.
Re: Some mirth
Nation’s Doctors Praying for Dr. Oz to Win and Quit Medicine
May 18, 2022
PENNSYLVANIA (The Borowitz Report)—With the G.O.P. Senate primary in Pennsylvania too close to call, thousands of American doctors are praying that Dr. Mehmet Oz ekes out a win and quits medicine.
Dr. Harland Dorrinson, a neurosurgeon based in Wichita, Kansas, has been funnelling thousands of dollars to the Oz campaign, all donations from doctors hell-bent on seeing the TV host leave their profession.
“Like doctors all across the nation, I salivate at the thought of Dr. Oz talking about taxes, infrastructure, and foreign policy instead of the healing powers of magic coffee beans,” Dorrinson said.
The physician said that his colleagues’ hearts sank when it became apparent that an easy win for Oz was not in the cards, but they “haven’t given up hope” that his departure from medicine could be nigh.
“If Dr. Oz wins, millions of lives could be saved,” Dorrinson said.
May 18, 2022
PENNSYLVANIA (The Borowitz Report)—With the G.O.P. Senate primary in Pennsylvania too close to call, thousands of American doctors are praying that Dr. Mehmet Oz ekes out a win and quits medicine.
Dr. Harland Dorrinson, a neurosurgeon based in Wichita, Kansas, has been funnelling thousands of dollars to the Oz campaign, all donations from doctors hell-bent on seeing the TV host leave their profession.
“Like doctors all across the nation, I salivate at the thought of Dr. Oz talking about taxes, infrastructure, and foreign policy instead of the healing powers of magic coffee beans,” Dorrinson said.
The physician said that his colleagues’ hearts sank when it became apparent that an easy win for Oz was not in the cards, but they “haven’t given up hope” that his departure from medicine could be nigh.
“If Dr. Oz wins, millions of lives could be saved,” Dorrinson said.
Re: Some mirth
Quote of the day
“Corporation, n. An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility.”
— Ambrose Bierce, “The Cynic’s Word Book” (1906)
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/20/opin ... dobbs.html
“Corporation, n. An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility.”
— Ambrose Bierce, “The Cynic’s Word Book” (1906)
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/20/opin ... dobbs.html
Re: Some mirth
Aphorisms for the Anthropocene
June 24, 2022,New Yorker Magazine
A bird in the hand is worth returning to the bush, where it can be with those two other birds, and perhaps rebuild a sustainable population.
Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day; teach a man to fish, and he’ll trawl the ocean with enormous nets until there are no more fish.
Fortunately, there are plenty of things in the sea besides fish—such as plastic water bottles, old tires, and books that have fallen off cargo ships.
A rolling stone gathers no polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs).
Don’t count your chickens before they’ve been inoculated with ten different antibiotics that allow them to grow to unnatural proportions in the confined quarters of your modern factory farm.
Red sky at night, firefighters’ plight; red sky in the morning, everyone needs to evacuate from this wildfire immediately.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink that swill contaminated by heavy metals and agricultural runoff.
Don’t look a gift wind turbine in the blades.
Happy as a clam (an invasive one that is immune to endemic predators).
Unlike children, the ivory-billed woodpecker can’t be seen or heard. It is extinct.
Leave no stone unturned, unless you are a geologist looking for evidence of coal deposits on behalf of a mining company—in which case, please leave those stones alone.
The early investor in water rights gets to be called a worm.
Make hay while the sun shines, but wear a lot of sunscreen while doing so, and also stay hydrated, and—actually, given the rise in global temperatures and heat-related deaths, maybe make hay at dawn or dusk, instead?
Every cloud has a silver lining, and some also have high concentrations of organic aerosols.
That’s just the tip of the iceberg—the rest of it has already melted.
If you lie down with lobbyists, you’ll wake up fleeced by the fossil-fuel industry.
When it rains, it pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. ♦
June 24, 2022,New Yorker Magazine
A bird in the hand is worth returning to the bush, where it can be with those two other birds, and perhaps rebuild a sustainable population.
Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day; teach a man to fish, and he’ll trawl the ocean with enormous nets until there are no more fish.
Fortunately, there are plenty of things in the sea besides fish—such as plastic water bottles, old tires, and books that have fallen off cargo ships.
A rolling stone gathers no polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs).
Don’t count your chickens before they’ve been inoculated with ten different antibiotics that allow them to grow to unnatural proportions in the confined quarters of your modern factory farm.
Red sky at night, firefighters’ plight; red sky in the morning, everyone needs to evacuate from this wildfire immediately.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink that swill contaminated by heavy metals and agricultural runoff.
Don’t look a gift wind turbine in the blades.
Happy as a clam (an invasive one that is immune to endemic predators).
Unlike children, the ivory-billed woodpecker can’t be seen or heard. It is extinct.
Leave no stone unturned, unless you are a geologist looking for evidence of coal deposits on behalf of a mining company—in which case, please leave those stones alone.
The early investor in water rights gets to be called a worm.
Make hay while the sun shines, but wear a lot of sunscreen while doing so, and also stay hydrated, and—actually, given the rise in global temperatures and heat-related deaths, maybe make hay at dawn or dusk, instead?
Every cloud has a silver lining, and some also have high concentrations of organic aerosols.
That’s just the tip of the iceberg—the rest of it has already melted.
If you lie down with lobbyists, you’ll wake up fleeced by the fossil-fuel industry.
When it rains, it pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. And pours. ♦
Re: Some mirth
So , I guess Budweiser has re-branded ? Golfer Rory McIlroy useed to complain about America’s “ pissy beer”. Now, seems in Singapore you can get your " rental " back.
From AxiosWhatNext today:
A beer brewed using recycled toilet water is all the rage in Singapore, Bloomberg reports.
• The bev, called NEWBrew, is a "collaboration between the country’s national water agency ... and local craft brewery Brewerkz.”
Why it matters: NEWBrew is something of a PR stunt for recycled water — but it's also a glimpse into the future of what we'll be eating and drinking as water shortages become more common across the world.
How it works: Before brewing, the water is disinfected with UV light, then passed through "advanced membranes" to remove contaminant particles.
The verdict: It's a "refreshing, light-tasting ale," per Bloomberg, "perfect for Singapore's tropical climate."
• And it's going quick: Brewerkz expects its first batch to sell out this month.
From AxiosWhatNext today:
A beer brewed using recycled toilet water is all the rage in Singapore, Bloomberg reports.
• The bev, called NEWBrew, is a "collaboration between the country’s national water agency ... and local craft brewery Brewerkz.”
Why it matters: NEWBrew is something of a PR stunt for recycled water — but it's also a glimpse into the future of what we'll be eating and drinking as water shortages become more common across the world.
How it works: Before brewing, the water is disinfected with UV light, then passed through "advanced membranes" to remove contaminant particles.
The verdict: It's a "refreshing, light-tasting ale," per Bloomberg, "perfect for Singapore's tropical climate."
• And it's going quick: Brewerkz expects its first batch to sell out this month.
Re: Some mirth
Just a little " some".
From New Yorker Magazine:
Daily Shouts
Tough-Guy Things I Can Do Because I Don’t Wear a Face Mask
By Alex Watt
July 8, 2020
Spit anywhere I want. Got that, Mask Boy?
Smoke big-ass cigars. Not only does it look boss as hell, it keeps me from eating too much candy. Let’s just say that I’ve earned a reputation for having a sweet tooth, which is why the fellas call me Sweetie. It’s one of those tough-guy nicknames that’s ironic, because I’m anything but sweet. Trust me. They just as well could’ve given me the nickname Jawbreaker instead. Great, now I’m craving one of those. Thanks a lot, Masky Wonka.
Smooch bodacious babes. Tattooed hotties who have piercings and hair so red you almost forget that the smoke is coming from my stogie and not their scalps. I’m talking perfect tens, and they’d kill for a night with a rebel like me. My Facebook is full of them and they click “like” on all the comments that I leave on their pics—but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Mask Zuckernerd?
Grit my teeth to show that I’m not exactly happy with how close you’re getting to my PT Cruiser. That’s right, the one with a Harley-Davidson sticker. The only souls who can lay hands on this throbbing hunk of American muscle and live to talk about it are me, myself, and the guy at Jiffy Lube who changes the oil for me—so back off, buddy. Or I’ll breathe. That’s what you’re so afraid of, right? Well, I refuse to live in your Spin City, Michael J. Sux.
Whistle when I see the price of gas. If I do it just once? Yikes. Twice? Whoa, momma! They’re practically giving that diesel away. My Chrysler kitty only purrs for regular, but I like to rep for my fellow bad boys who are out there hauling ass in a semi. When I see them on the road, I like to give a little salute to show that we’re cut from the same leather. They usually salute back with one finger, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. If you don’t like it, maybe see if you can buy one of those masks for your eyes, Zerro. (You know, like Zorro, but a loser.)
Speak freely and clearly without any stupid fabric silencing my words. If I’m going to tell someone to shut up and stop calling this number because the person they’re trying to reach doesn’t live here anymore, I’m not going to be hiding behind a mask. Just like I don’t hide behind one when I post online. I wish I could take credit for the image of a Minion dressed like the Punisher bowing down before God, who is wearing a “Fire Fauci” T-shirt with the sleeves cut off while whizzing on the CNN logo, which I reply to medical experts and other trolls with, but the name of the artist remains unknown. Maybe you can look it up, Mask Ruffalo-when-he-played-a-journalist-in-that-movie.
Beat-box. But I won’t, because I only like hard-rock music. If they don’t have their guitar picks hanging in a Hard Rock Cafe, they’re not badass enough for me. Sorry, Biz Maskie.
Hang a toothpick from my lip. I’m not sure why this is a tough-guy thing, but it is. My guess is that no one has ever been brave enough to ask a guy with a toothpick hanging from his lip why it’s there. But I totally get it, even if I can’t explain it. Kind of like how I can understand why I don’t need to wear a mask, but can’t explain it without getting all pissed off. Especially not to you, Maskhole.
Eat whatever I’d like. The grocery store won’t let me in without a mask, but it’s still a free country in my condo—so everything in my cupboard is fair game. I’ve got cans of Manwich and a box of giant novelty-sized lollipops one of the fellas got me for tough-guy Secret Santa this year, as a joke. The sugary shards are shredding my gums, but luckily blood is my favorite condiment, besides aioli mayonnaise. You must be drooling under that mask, aren’t you, Mask Baby? Ha! You can’t stand to see me living my best life, munching on lolly after lolly. P.P.E.? More like P.P.U. That is one stinky diaper you got there, Mask Baby. Seriously, the smell is making my tummy hurt.
Spit anytime I want. Got that, Mask Boy? I mean, Dr. Mask Boy.
From New Yorker Magazine:
Daily Shouts
Tough-Guy Things I Can Do Because I Don’t Wear a Face Mask
By Alex Watt
July 8, 2020
Spit anywhere I want. Got that, Mask Boy?
Smoke big-ass cigars. Not only does it look boss as hell, it keeps me from eating too much candy. Let’s just say that I’ve earned a reputation for having a sweet tooth, which is why the fellas call me Sweetie. It’s one of those tough-guy nicknames that’s ironic, because I’m anything but sweet. Trust me. They just as well could’ve given me the nickname Jawbreaker instead. Great, now I’m craving one of those. Thanks a lot, Masky Wonka.
Smooch bodacious babes. Tattooed hotties who have piercings and hair so red you almost forget that the smoke is coming from my stogie and not their scalps. I’m talking perfect tens, and they’d kill for a night with a rebel like me. My Facebook is full of them and they click “like” on all the comments that I leave on their pics—but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Mask Zuckernerd?
Grit my teeth to show that I’m not exactly happy with how close you’re getting to my PT Cruiser. That’s right, the one with a Harley-Davidson sticker. The only souls who can lay hands on this throbbing hunk of American muscle and live to talk about it are me, myself, and the guy at Jiffy Lube who changes the oil for me—so back off, buddy. Or I’ll breathe. That’s what you’re so afraid of, right? Well, I refuse to live in your Spin City, Michael J. Sux.
Whistle when I see the price of gas. If I do it just once? Yikes. Twice? Whoa, momma! They’re practically giving that diesel away. My Chrysler kitty only purrs for regular, but I like to rep for my fellow bad boys who are out there hauling ass in a semi. When I see them on the road, I like to give a little salute to show that we’re cut from the same leather. They usually salute back with one finger, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. If you don’t like it, maybe see if you can buy one of those masks for your eyes, Zerro. (You know, like Zorro, but a loser.)
Speak freely and clearly without any stupid fabric silencing my words. If I’m going to tell someone to shut up and stop calling this number because the person they’re trying to reach doesn’t live here anymore, I’m not going to be hiding behind a mask. Just like I don’t hide behind one when I post online. I wish I could take credit for the image of a Minion dressed like the Punisher bowing down before God, who is wearing a “Fire Fauci” T-shirt with the sleeves cut off while whizzing on the CNN logo, which I reply to medical experts and other trolls with, but the name of the artist remains unknown. Maybe you can look it up, Mask Ruffalo-when-he-played-a-journalist-in-that-movie.
Beat-box. But I won’t, because I only like hard-rock music. If they don’t have their guitar picks hanging in a Hard Rock Cafe, they’re not badass enough for me. Sorry, Biz Maskie.
Hang a toothpick from my lip. I’m not sure why this is a tough-guy thing, but it is. My guess is that no one has ever been brave enough to ask a guy with a toothpick hanging from his lip why it’s there. But I totally get it, even if I can’t explain it. Kind of like how I can understand why I don’t need to wear a mask, but can’t explain it without getting all pissed off. Especially not to you, Maskhole.
Eat whatever I’d like. The grocery store won’t let me in without a mask, but it’s still a free country in my condo—so everything in my cupboard is fair game. I’ve got cans of Manwich and a box of giant novelty-sized lollipops one of the fellas got me for tough-guy Secret Santa this year, as a joke. The sugary shards are shredding my gums, but luckily blood is my favorite condiment, besides aioli mayonnaise. You must be drooling under that mask, aren’t you, Mask Baby? Ha! You can’t stand to see me living my best life, munching on lolly after lolly. P.P.E.? More like P.P.U. That is one stinky diaper you got there, Mask Baby. Seriously, the smell is making my tummy hurt.
Spit anytime I want. Got that, Mask Boy? I mean, Dr. Mask Boy.
Re: Some mirth
This is one of the funniest things I've seen in recent years. How was he not punished by the Thought Police??!! 
https://youtu.be/AIpdC0o3mdM
https://youtu.be/AIpdC0o3mdM
-
jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
-
jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Re: Some mirth
Spooner is a very great illustrator and cartoonist. He was a friend of mine for decades at The Age. He contributed regular illustrations for the opinion page when I was opinion editor, some of which were pure genius. So I'm hugely disappointed at this cartoon. Of COURSE Trump bears some responsibility for the US's economic woes - Biden didn't come into a vacuum. And of COURSE Biden bears some responsibility too.
Re: Some mirth
From New Yorker Magazine today:
“ Majority rules! Well, except in a democracy where the majority is dependent on a larger system of districting and electoral votes, insuring that the majority rarely wins and letting all decisions fall on nine Justices whom no one elected.”
“ Majority rules! Well, except in a democracy where the majority is dependent on a larger system of districting and electoral votes, insuring that the majority rarely wins and letting all decisions fall on nine Justices whom no one elected.”
Re: Some mirth
In short, nothing has changed over the centuries!! Remember what Winston Churchill said about Democracy?Rach3 wrote: ↑Thu Jul 14, 2022 6:42 pmFrom New Yorker Magazine today:
“ Majority rules! Well, except in a democracy where the majority is dependent on a larger system of districting and electoral votes, insuring that the majority rarely wins and letting all decisions fall on nine Justices whom no one elected.”
If the Supreme Court is the subject of so much contempt how come the Left embarrassed itself on a global scale over the Brett Kavanaugh fiasco? (I know the answer, but I'm waiting for you to come up with some powerful obfuscation.)
Don't sweat the small stuff, mate!! And when you're dealing with serious illness, war, natural disasters and starvation this IS very small stuff! You may not be interested in whether people are cold or hot because you think people with such concerns are 'climate denialists' (love that biblical trope!) but when not enough energy is generated to keep them alive, the consequences will be very interested in you - and your polity!!
Re: Some mirth
From New Yorker Magazine today.
Channel 7 Evening News:
“Today’s top story: nobody did anything about anything that you wanted them to do something about.”
--------------------
Biden's alternatives to a fist bump with MBS :
Biden could have pointed to the crown prince’s shirt and said, “You got a little spot,” and when the Saudi royal looked down, booped his nose and said, “No, seriously, you had a journalist killed.”
Biden could have greeted Prince Mohammed by saying, “Guy who in 2017 said he would use a bullet on Jamal Khashoggi says what? ”To which the Prince would say, “What?” To which Biden would say, “Exactly.”
Biden could have given Prince Mohammed a hug but then when the royal turns around there’s a sign taped to his back that reads “I apologize to the family of the journalist I had killed.”
Biden could have clutched Prince Mohammed’s head in both his hands, kissed him hard on the mouth, and then said, “I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart.”
Channel 7 Evening News:
“Today’s top story: nobody did anything about anything that you wanted them to do something about.”
--------------------
Biden's alternatives to a fist bump with MBS :
Biden could have pointed to the crown prince’s shirt and said, “You got a little spot,” and when the Saudi royal looked down, booped his nose and said, “No, seriously, you had a journalist killed.”
Biden could have greeted Prince Mohammed by saying, “Guy who in 2017 said he would use a bullet on Jamal Khashoggi says what? ”To which the Prince would say, “What?” To which Biden would say, “Exactly.”
Biden could have given Prince Mohammed a hug but then when the royal turns around there’s a sign taped to his back that reads “I apologize to the family of the journalist I had killed.”
Biden could have clutched Prince Mohammed’s head in both his hands, kissed him hard on the mouth, and then said, “I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart.”
Re: Some mirth
New Yorker Magazine today:
It seems like only yesterday you’d see children out in the castle courtyard, pretending to be knights and socializing with their peers. Alas, no more! Ever since the invention of the printing press, our children have lost interest in anything other than these damn “book” things. I don’t wish to sound backward, but Gutenberg’s creation is the worst thing to happen to civilization since Copernicus lied about the sun.
Each morning, when I leave my cottage, the scenes I witness could be taken straight from the End of Days. Villagers passing you in the street with their noses in books; couples on the backs of potato carts, staring expressionlessly into books. I even see people reading while riding horses, careening blindly into cottages, mowing down peasants at random—it should be illegal!
Townsfolk seem excited about the advent of accessible literature, but I think that these people must not have kids. All mine does now is hole up in his bedroom, consuming “tales.” When he wakes up, his book is the first thing he reaches for. He doesn’t talk; he barely pays attention to a beheading in the town square. Recently, I’ve even caught him looking at his mother and me differently, as if in some disturbing way he’s imagining the words a book would use to describe us. This technology is altering the psychology of my child!
In the thirteen-hundreds, we had healthy Christian hobbies, like jousting and stalking wild boar. We quested, sang songs, killed the French, hunted for food, pillaged French villages, and brought honor to England by destroying the bastard country of France. But now? I swear, sometimes these kids aren’t even reading anything—they’re just addicted to turning pages. I can’t wait until they grow up and realize how much of their adolescence they wasted on “content” when they could have spent that time killing Frenchmen.
As for my child, he flinches when addressed, and grows like a weed near any light source amenable to reading. I told him that books are not allowed at dinner, but I can tell he’s riffling through them beneath the table. Worse, I sense that he’s becoming obsessed with other people’s lives and depressed with his own. Compared with the lives of all these heroes and noblemen he’s reading about, how could he not feel his mother and I are, as he puts it, “fucking peasants”?
How is this generation supposed to fight a war? I shudder to think of them all on the battlefield, squinting at the enemy. I attended a duel recently in which the two combatants were so nearsighted that they had to depend on their hearing to engage one another. Once our foes hear that our nation is defended by a bunch of armchair-physiqued literati, our pathetic country will fall!
I ask you, what was wrong with scrolls? Sure, they were written on highly flammable papyrus, and, yes, the amount of expensive monk-labor required to transcribe a single scroll virtually insured that only the landed gentry would ever be able to collect them—but they were nice. These days, people don’t even have the patience to look through a scroll, now that you can just reference a “page” (ugh!) and find the appropriate “chapter” (what?!). These books are ruining the attention spans of our youth!
This is my last-ditch effort to get my son’s attention. David? I wrote this for you. Are you reading it? Please talk to me. Please go outside. Please see the world. Renounce books so that you may educate yourself. Become a man with your own life experiences, instead of a carefully curated collection of “stories” provided to you by total strangers!
And, if you don’t, I swear to God I will take your books and burn them.
Your loving father,
Reginald
It seems like only yesterday you’d see children out in the castle courtyard, pretending to be knights and socializing with their peers. Alas, no more! Ever since the invention of the printing press, our children have lost interest in anything other than these damn “book” things. I don’t wish to sound backward, but Gutenberg’s creation is the worst thing to happen to civilization since Copernicus lied about the sun.
Each morning, when I leave my cottage, the scenes I witness could be taken straight from the End of Days. Villagers passing you in the street with their noses in books; couples on the backs of potato carts, staring expressionlessly into books. I even see people reading while riding horses, careening blindly into cottages, mowing down peasants at random—it should be illegal!
Townsfolk seem excited about the advent of accessible literature, but I think that these people must not have kids. All mine does now is hole up in his bedroom, consuming “tales.” When he wakes up, his book is the first thing he reaches for. He doesn’t talk; he barely pays attention to a beheading in the town square. Recently, I’ve even caught him looking at his mother and me differently, as if in some disturbing way he’s imagining the words a book would use to describe us. This technology is altering the psychology of my child!
In the thirteen-hundreds, we had healthy Christian hobbies, like jousting and stalking wild boar. We quested, sang songs, killed the French, hunted for food, pillaged French villages, and brought honor to England by destroying the bastard country of France. But now? I swear, sometimes these kids aren’t even reading anything—they’re just addicted to turning pages. I can’t wait until they grow up and realize how much of their adolescence they wasted on “content” when they could have spent that time killing Frenchmen.
As for my child, he flinches when addressed, and grows like a weed near any light source amenable to reading. I told him that books are not allowed at dinner, but I can tell he’s riffling through them beneath the table. Worse, I sense that he’s becoming obsessed with other people’s lives and depressed with his own. Compared with the lives of all these heroes and noblemen he’s reading about, how could he not feel his mother and I are, as he puts it, “fucking peasants”?
How is this generation supposed to fight a war? I shudder to think of them all on the battlefield, squinting at the enemy. I attended a duel recently in which the two combatants were so nearsighted that they had to depend on their hearing to engage one another. Once our foes hear that our nation is defended by a bunch of armchair-physiqued literati, our pathetic country will fall!
I ask you, what was wrong with scrolls? Sure, they were written on highly flammable papyrus, and, yes, the amount of expensive monk-labor required to transcribe a single scroll virtually insured that only the landed gentry would ever be able to collect them—but they were nice. These days, people don’t even have the patience to look through a scroll, now that you can just reference a “page” (ugh!) and find the appropriate “chapter” (what?!). These books are ruining the attention spans of our youth!
This is my last-ditch effort to get my son’s attention. David? I wrote this for you. Are you reading it? Please talk to me. Please go outside. Please see the world. Renounce books so that you may educate yourself. Become a man with your own life experiences, instead of a carefully curated collection of “stories” provided to you by total strangers!
And, if you don’t, I swear to God I will take your books and burn them.
Your loving father,
Reginald
Re: Some mirth
Hah! Sounds just like politics to me.Rach3 wrote: ↑Tue Aug 02, 2022 9:23 amWhat we do for excitement in Iowa:
https://www.axios.com/newsletters/axios ... are#story5
Re: Some mirth
WAPO tonightL:
A dog was missing. Cavers found her two months later 500 feet underground.
‘If we didn’t get her out, she would die in there,’ one of the rescuers said
By Cathy Free
August 11, 2022 at 6:00 a.m. EDT
Gerry Keene was 500 feet underground on a cave exploration adventure in Missouri when his headlamp shone on something he’d never seen this deep in a cave: a dog.
She was skinny with matted fur and had curled up on a slab of cold rock, too weak to wag her tail or whimper.
Keene had seen fish, frogs and other small amphibians on his previous trips underground, but the last thing he expected to see was a dog. There was no telling how long she had been stuck down there.
“We realized it would be hard to get her out because she was too weak to walk,” said Keene, 59, who was on a spelunking trip in Perryville, Mo., on Saturday with a small group that included several children.
He snapped a photo of the dog, then headed out of the cave to call for help from emergency responders.
Gerry Keene took this photo of Abby after he and his caving group spotted her deep inside the Tom Moore Cave in Perryville, Mo. (Gerry Keene)
At the same time as an assistant fire chief arrived, Rick Haley, a caving enthusiast who happened to be nearby, overheard that a dog was found inside the cave and needed rescuing. He volunteered to venture back into the darkness with Keene and help bring out the pup.
“There’s no telling how long she’d been down there, but we knew we had to get her out,” said Haley, who had just been surveying 2,000 feet of passageways in the Tom Moore Cave system for the Cave Research Foundation.
Haley and Keene decided the only way to rescue the wounded dog was to go back down and carry her up.
“If we didn’t get her out, she would die in there,” said Haley, 66, a caver with 30 years of experience. “It would be a tough, vertical climb to get her out. But we were up for it.”
Before Keene went back into the cave with Haley, he showed the photo of the dog to residents who lived near the cave. One of them recognized her as Abby, a neighbor’s mixed-breed poodle who had gone missing June 9.
Haley and Keene speculated she might have chased an animal into the cave or was perhaps swept inside during a flash flood.
Knowing that someone was looking for her gave them even more motivation to go back in and get her.
They walked and crawled for about 15 minutes until they reached Abby, but it took them more than an hour to carefully haul her through low and narrow tunnels to the surface in a padded duffel bag, Haley said. The exhausted pooch’s head poked out of the top.
“We had to move her hand over hand because it was pretty tight and vertical coming out,” Haley said, noting that at one point he and Keene had to slither through mud in a long corkscrew tunnel.
“It was tiring because it was the fourth trip through the cave that day,” Keene said. “But we just took it slow and easy.”
The cave tunnel system is about 22 miles, one of the longest in Missouri, which is known as the Cave State with more than 7,300 recorded caves.
Abby was quiet and relaxed as they moved her through the tight spaces, perhaps because she knew she was being rescued, Haley said.
“She was also extremely weak and emaciated from lack of food,” he said. “She did have water in the cave. If not for that, she wouldn’t be here.”
Gerry Keene works his way through rocks and mud with Abby during her rescue this month. (Rick Haley)
He and Keene noticed that her claws were sharp and long, which indicated that she hadn’t walked in quite a while, he added.
When the pair surfaced with Abby, her grateful owner, Jeff Bohnert, 55, rushed over to get her and gingerly bring her home. He said a neighbor had alerted him about the photo taken by Keene.
He was flabbergasted to learn that his adventurous dog had been found 500 feet underground, two months after she went missing.
“I was absolutely astonished that she was still alive,” he said, noting that the cave is about two miles from his house. “She’s a real survivor. It took a while for her eyesight to adjust after being in the darkness for so long. But she’s coming around.”
Abby is recovering from her ordeal nicely and has become more steady on her feet, said her owner, Jeff Bohnert, shown here with her four days after the rescue. (Kathy Bohnert)
He and his wife, Kathy Bohnert, gently gave Abby a bath, and they made a large batch of chicken broth to feed to her in small amounts.
“It had been a long time since she’d had food, so we gave the broth to her in tiny increments to get her stomach moving again,” Bohnert said. “She’s still pretty weak, but she’s responding to the nutrients.”
He said that on the day she went missing, she was out playing off leash “in the country” with their other dog, Summer, as they like to do.
“Only one dog came home,” he said. “She hangs pretty closely with Summer, so I knew something was definitely wrong when she didn’t come back. It was sad to know she was missing.”
He said he looked for her and put out the word she was missing, but had no luck.
Abby has been part of their family for 14 years, ever since he got her as a puppy for his daughter, Rachel Bohnert, then 8.
Abby is now able to take short walks on a leash, and she seems happy to be reunited with her pal Summer and the family cat, Fuzzy, he said.
Abby, center, enjoys a short walk with Summer and the family cat, Fuzzy, on Aug. 9 in Perryville. (Rachel Bohnert)
“We’re all really thankful to these two guys who brought her out,” Bohnert said, noting that he gave a gallon of ice cream to the cavers to help them cool off after the rescue.
Haley and Keene said they were happy to make the trip.
Rick Haley with Abby during a break in their ascent out of the cave. (Rick Haley)
“If it weren’t for our cave projects that weekend, we never would have found that dog,” Haley said. “When my head finally hit the pillow that night, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.”
A dog was missing. Cavers found her two months later 500 feet underground.
‘If we didn’t get her out, she would die in there,’ one of the rescuers said
By Cathy Free
August 11, 2022 at 6:00 a.m. EDT
Gerry Keene was 500 feet underground on a cave exploration adventure in Missouri when his headlamp shone on something he’d never seen this deep in a cave: a dog.
She was skinny with matted fur and had curled up on a slab of cold rock, too weak to wag her tail or whimper.
Keene had seen fish, frogs and other small amphibians on his previous trips underground, but the last thing he expected to see was a dog. There was no telling how long she had been stuck down there.
“We realized it would be hard to get her out because she was too weak to walk,” said Keene, 59, who was on a spelunking trip in Perryville, Mo., on Saturday with a small group that included several children.
He snapped a photo of the dog, then headed out of the cave to call for help from emergency responders.
Gerry Keene took this photo of Abby after he and his caving group spotted her deep inside the Tom Moore Cave in Perryville, Mo. (Gerry Keene)
At the same time as an assistant fire chief arrived, Rick Haley, a caving enthusiast who happened to be nearby, overheard that a dog was found inside the cave and needed rescuing. He volunteered to venture back into the darkness with Keene and help bring out the pup.
“There’s no telling how long she’d been down there, but we knew we had to get her out,” said Haley, who had just been surveying 2,000 feet of passageways in the Tom Moore Cave system for the Cave Research Foundation.
Haley and Keene decided the only way to rescue the wounded dog was to go back down and carry her up.
“If we didn’t get her out, she would die in there,” said Haley, 66, a caver with 30 years of experience. “It would be a tough, vertical climb to get her out. But we were up for it.”
Before Keene went back into the cave with Haley, he showed the photo of the dog to residents who lived near the cave. One of them recognized her as Abby, a neighbor’s mixed-breed poodle who had gone missing June 9.
Haley and Keene speculated she might have chased an animal into the cave or was perhaps swept inside during a flash flood.
Knowing that someone was looking for her gave them even more motivation to go back in and get her.
They walked and crawled for about 15 minutes until they reached Abby, but it took them more than an hour to carefully haul her through low and narrow tunnels to the surface in a padded duffel bag, Haley said. The exhausted pooch’s head poked out of the top.
“We had to move her hand over hand because it was pretty tight and vertical coming out,” Haley said, noting that at one point he and Keene had to slither through mud in a long corkscrew tunnel.
“It was tiring because it was the fourth trip through the cave that day,” Keene said. “But we just took it slow and easy.”
The cave tunnel system is about 22 miles, one of the longest in Missouri, which is known as the Cave State with more than 7,300 recorded caves.
Abby was quiet and relaxed as they moved her through the tight spaces, perhaps because she knew she was being rescued, Haley said.
“She was also extremely weak and emaciated from lack of food,” he said. “She did have water in the cave. If not for that, she wouldn’t be here.”
Gerry Keene works his way through rocks and mud with Abby during her rescue this month. (Rick Haley)
He and Keene noticed that her claws were sharp and long, which indicated that she hadn’t walked in quite a while, he added.
When the pair surfaced with Abby, her grateful owner, Jeff Bohnert, 55, rushed over to get her and gingerly bring her home. He said a neighbor had alerted him about the photo taken by Keene.
He was flabbergasted to learn that his adventurous dog had been found 500 feet underground, two months after she went missing.
“I was absolutely astonished that she was still alive,” he said, noting that the cave is about two miles from his house. “She’s a real survivor. It took a while for her eyesight to adjust after being in the darkness for so long. But she’s coming around.”
Abby is recovering from her ordeal nicely and has become more steady on her feet, said her owner, Jeff Bohnert, shown here with her four days after the rescue. (Kathy Bohnert)
He and his wife, Kathy Bohnert, gently gave Abby a bath, and they made a large batch of chicken broth to feed to her in small amounts.
“It had been a long time since she’d had food, so we gave the broth to her in tiny increments to get her stomach moving again,” Bohnert said. “She’s still pretty weak, but she’s responding to the nutrients.”
He said that on the day she went missing, she was out playing off leash “in the country” with their other dog, Summer, as they like to do.
“Only one dog came home,” he said. “She hangs pretty closely with Summer, so I knew something was definitely wrong when she didn’t come back. It was sad to know she was missing.”
He said he looked for her and put out the word she was missing, but had no luck.
Abby has been part of their family for 14 years, ever since he got her as a puppy for his daughter, Rachel Bohnert, then 8.
Abby is now able to take short walks on a leash, and she seems happy to be reunited with her pal Summer and the family cat, Fuzzy, he said.
Abby, center, enjoys a short walk with Summer and the family cat, Fuzzy, on Aug. 9 in Perryville. (Rachel Bohnert)
“We’re all really thankful to these two guys who brought her out,” Bohnert said, noting that he gave a gallon of ice cream to the cavers to help them cool off after the rescue.
Haley and Keene said they were happy to make the trip.
Rick Haley with Abby during a break in their ascent out of the cave. (Rick Haley)
“If it weren’t for our cave projects that weekend, we never would have found that dog,” Haley said. “When my head finally hit the pillow that night, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.”
Re: Some mirth
History Report
The New Yorker Magazine
( Simon Rich has written several books, including “New Teeth,” a collection of stories. He is the creator of and the showrunner for “Miracle Workers,” on TBS.)
Simon Rich,August 29,2022
I interviewed my Great-Grandfather Simon because he is the oldest person in my family who is still alive. He was born in a country called America, on Earth. He said he used to be a writer. I asked him if he wrote “Spider-Man” and he said no, he wrote other things that have all been lost.
My Great-Grandfather was one of the only men to escape from Earth. The rest of the people who got seats on the Escape Pod were women and children. My Great-Grandfather says they let him on because “they needed one man to row the spaceship.” I’m not sure what he means, because there are no oars on a spaceship, but that is what he said.
My Great-Grandfather told me how scary it was when Earth became too hot to live on. The skies burned with fire day and night, and you couldn’t walk across the street without collapsing. I asked him if he had had any kind of warning about climate change, and he said yes, there’d been articles, movies, and books about how it was going to happen. I asked him if he tried to stop it from happening, and he said yes, of course. I asked him how, and he said that he had done something called recycling, which is where you throw your garbage into different-colored boxes. I asked my mom what he was talking about, and she explained that when people become as old as my Great-Grandfather their brains start to break down and it is almost like they turn back into babies.
Since my Great-Grandfather is going to die soon, and he is one of the only survivors of Earth, I decided to ask him what his favorite memory of the planet was. I thought he might tell me about the end of World War Four or going to see “Spider-Man,” but instead he told me about the first date he went on with his wife, my Great-Grandmother Kathleen. They met in College, which is a place people used to go to after high school to drink alcohol. Some people drank so much there that they died.
My Great-Grandfather said that when he was in College online dating hadn’t been invented yet. Instead of matching with someone through a dating app and sending a series of nude photos to each other before eventually meeting up for sex, you would meet them in person, before doing anything else. This meant that when my Great-Grandparents went out for the first time, they had no idea what each other looked like naked. At this point my mother, who was recording our interview, told my Great-Grandfather that he was being inappropriate, because this was a project for school, and he apologized, but said that the naked stuff was “crucial to the story” and that he was going to keep bringing it up whenever it was relevant.
My Great-Grandfather explained that not only had they not seen each other naked, he wasn’t sure if my Great-Grandmother wanted that to happen. Sometimes, in those days, when someone agreed to go out on a date with you, they were still undecided about the naked thing, and wanted to learn more personal information about you before making up their mind. Since this was before social media, the only way to get this personal information was by asking people questions to their face, as if their actual, living, breathing face was their social-media profile. Sometimes this would get embarrassing. Like, you might ask, “What do your parents do?” and they would say, “My parents are dead.” And then you would have to say something like “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that because I have no information about you. We are strangers.” And sometimes the other person would forgive you, but sometimes they would not. Also, sometimes the person you’d asked out on a date would not even know it was a date, because they had assumed that you were gay, or they found you so unattractive that it had not even occurred to them that you might be pursuing them romantically—like, that notion was so sick to them that it had truly not even crossed their mind. And sometimes they would convey this information to you in the middle of dinner—that they considered you a friend and nothing more—and to make the situation less humiliating you would have to pretend that you felt the same way, and keep on smiling all night, even though you’d just learned that this person you hoped you might see naked was so repulsed by you that even though you had invited them to a Spanish restaurant, it had legitimately never entered their mind that you were hoping for intimacy, because that would be as insane as being asked out by, like, a dog or a potato.
The point, my Great-Grandfather said, is that he had no idea what my Great-Grandmother thought about him. He had no idea what she thought about anything. He had zero information about her, other than what she looked like wearing clothes, and also how it sounded when she laughed, which she had done a couple of times on their long, slow walk through campus, with the cool fall breeze whipping through the scattered leaves.
My Great-Grandfather said that all dates began with the same custom. The two people on the date would take turns verbally listing all the TV shows they liked. If they both liked the same show, they’d exchange memes from it. But here’s the thing: gifs did not exist yet. So instead of texting the other person a funny moment from a show, you would say out loud, “Do you remember the part when . . .” and then you would perform the meme yourself, using your face and body to imitate what an actor had said and done. Exchanging memes in person was much scarier than doing it by text, because when you text someone a meme and they don’t respond, you can tell yourself that maybe they liked it but just didn’t have time to text you back. But when you performed a meme in person, and the other person didn’t like it, you would be able to tell, because instead of laughing they would just kind of sadly look away and say, “Yeah, I remember that part.” And you would have to just keep on walking to the restaurant.
Luckily, though, my Great-Grandfather’s meme performances went over well, or at least well enough to keep the conversation going. And while he still had no idea whether he and my Great-Grandmother would ever see each other naked, he knew that it was at least technically still possible.
My Great-Grandfather had invited my Great-Grandmother to a Spanish restaurant, because it was the only restaurant he knew that served wine to people under twenty-one. But when they arrived it was too crowded to get a table. They needed to find some other place to eat, but neither of them had Internet access, so their only option was to physically search for food, by walking around and looking in random directions, like, truly the same process used by animals. Things grew tense. The sun had set, and my Great-Grandfather was fearful they would not be able to find alcohol. But after a few stressful minutes they followed the scent of fried food around a corner and found a Chinese place that served beer, and they were so proud of themselves that they spontaneously high-fived, and that was the first time that they touched.
My Great-Grandfather told me that they stayed at the restaurant so long that by the end they were the only customers left. Because they were strangers, they asked each other pretty basic questions, like “Who are you? Where did you come from? What kind of a person are you?” They ended up having a lot of things in common, which was exciting, because that didn’t usually happen on a date. Often the other person would dislike things you liked, or love things that you hated, or things would seem to be going pretty well, and the person would seem really nice, but then out of the blue they would say, “What is your relationship with Jesus Christ?”
My Great-Grandfather said that the main thing he talked to my Great-Grandmother about was how nervous they both were about the future. I asked if he meant climate change, and he admitted that the imminent climate holocaust hadn’t come up much, and instead they’d mostly talked about their careers. It turned out they both had the same dream: to write stories down onto pieces of paper. In fact, they were both already trying to do that. Every day, they would each type out stories on computers and then print them with ink onto pieces of white paper. Their goal was to get better at making these paper stories, in the hopes that someday they might be able to persuade someone to reprint their paper stories onto multiple pieces of paper, and then sell those pieces of paper for pieces of money, which were also made of paper. At this point, my mother whispered to me that it was time for my Great-Grandfather to take a nap, and she gave him some medicine which made him sleep for about four hours. When he woke up, though, he was still insisting that all this paper stuff was real, and that it was their actual shared ambition to write stories down on paper and then sell the paper for more paper. And my mother smiled and rubbed his hand and said that she believed him, but while she was doing that she buzzed for the doctor, and he brought in this huge syringe that was almost like a gun, because it was made out of metal and it had this trigger on the bottom, and the doctor explained that he was going to shoot this thing into my Great-Grandfather’s brain, to make him less confused. And my Great-Grandfather laughed weirdly and said that he had been joking about “all that paper stuff,” and that really what he and his wife had talked about on their first date was climate change, because that’s what any sane person from that era would have prioritized: being a climate warrior. And the doctor looked into my Great-Grandfather’s eyes, with his finger on the trigger, and said, “Are you sure?” And my Great-Grandfather swallowed and said, “Yep!” And so the doctor left, but on his way out he told my mom that he would stay nearby, in case my Great-Grandfather got confused again, in which case he would come back and give him that gun shot, right in the middle of his brain.
And my Great-Grandfather was quiet for a while, almost like he was afraid to keep going with his story, but when I pressed him for more information, he said the main thing he wanted me to know before was not what he and my Great-Grandmother talked about, it was how they talked, because even though they were basically still strangers, who had never even seen each other naked, they somehow believed in each other from the start.
My Great-Grandfather told me that all dates ended with the same custom. After the two people had finished all the alcohol they’d been served, one person would ask the other to come over to their dorm room to watch “Arrested Development.” “Arrested Development” was a non-“Spider-Man” show that you played by putting small, round disks into a machine. The reason it existed was to create a way for people on dates to gauge each other’s interest in becoming naked, without having to directly ask them. The way this worked was a little complicated, but my Great-Grandfather was able to explain all the steps. First, you asked the other person if they had seen “Arrested Development,” and they would respond, “Some, but not all of it.” This would be your prompt to ask them if they wanted to come to your dorm room to watch the episodes they’d missed. If they didn’t want to see you naked, they would say that they had to “finish a paper,” which was an expression that meant that they were not attracted to you. If they did agree to watch “Arrested Development,” it meant that they probably wanted to see you naked. But here’s where it gets complicated: sometimes it didn’t mean that. Sometimes it just meant that they wanted to watch “Arrested Development.”
That’s why there was a third part of the custom: after walking back to your dorm room and putting one of the disks into the disk-playing machine, you would sit side by side on a small couch. Your eyes would be facing the screen, but your attention would be focussed entirely on each other. As “Arrested Development” played, you would physically move closer to the other person, inch by inch, without making any sudden movements. The idea was that, if you both moved incrementally toward each other, eventually your hands would touch. If the other person pulled their hand away, or laughed and said “Sorry!,” that meant they had really, truly come to watch “Arrested Development.” But if they did not pull their hand away from yours, that meant it was time to start kissing, which is what my Great-Grandparents did, even though they had never exchanged even the most rudimentary of nudes, and at this point my mother told him to stop telling the story, and he had to admit that the next part was genuinely inappropriate.
My Great-Grandfather said that their marriage wasn’t perfect. Sometimes they argued, and in the 2050s they both had full-fledged affairs with sex robots. But they ultimately forgave each other, because nobody’s perfect, and also by the 2050s sex robots had become extremely advanced, and also incredibly persuasive—like, if you refused to have sex with them, they would start making really high-level philosophical arguments about “why it wasn’t wrong,” using logic that was essentially bulletproof, while their boobs and dicks lit up and spun and stuff, and eventually it got to the point where the U.N. had to regulate the Sex Robot Industry, because they needed people to leave their apartments again, so we could go back to being a society.
The point is, my Great-Grandparents rekindled their romance in the 2060s, and they even ended up renewing their vows, while riding on the Escape Pod to New Earth, in front of their daughters and their grandchildren. And my Great-Grandfather asked my mom if she could remember the ceremony, and she said she was only four at the time, but she did vaguely remember how weird it was to see him on the spaceship, when it was supposed to be just for women and children, and my Great-Grandfather said that they needed to bring one man to “help the women lift their bags into the overhead compartments,” and I reminded him that earlier he’d said he’d been on the ship to row an oar, and there was a long pause, and then he said that he was tired and had to go to sleep. And he closed his eyes, but it didn’t really look like he was sleeping, because every few seconds he would open them to check if we were still there, and when he saw we were he would quickly close his eyes again.
And it was around this time that my Great-Grandmother rolled up in her wheelchair. And my Great-Grandfather stopped pretending to be asleep, and he sat up and smiled, and she smiled back, and then he looked into her eyes and said, “Do you want to watch ‘Arrested Development’?” And my mom reminded my Great-Grandfather that “Arrested Development” has been lost, along with everything else on Earth, because of his generation’s crimes against humanity. But my Great-Grandfather ignored her and motioned for his wife to wheel next to him. And he flipped through random channels, while their hands inched slowly toward each other.
And that’s when I finally figured out what the Earth was really like.
It was kind of like “Arrested Development.”
It was something people talked about, and praised, and maybe even tried to save, but the whole time what everybody secretly, actually cared about was the person sitting next to them. That’s where all of mankind’s effort went, the sweat and the toil of billions, not to saving the world but to the frantic, desperate quest for love. And that’s why the Earth is gone, because it was nothing more than a conversation starter. It wasn’t what we really, truly cared about. We never even really lived there. We lived in the presence of each other.
And when my mom read my first draft of this, she said that I shouldn’t end it this way, because it’s glib and defeatist and deeply problematic, and seems to absolve my Great-Grandfather for his political inaction, but it’s not like anybody’s going to read this stupid essay, and even if they do it’ll eventually be lost, like everything else besides “Spider-Man,” so I’m just going to stop it right here, because I want to go out and the night’s still young. ♦
The New Yorker Magazine
( Simon Rich has written several books, including “New Teeth,” a collection of stories. He is the creator of and the showrunner for “Miracle Workers,” on TBS.)
Simon Rich,August 29,2022
I interviewed my Great-Grandfather Simon because he is the oldest person in my family who is still alive. He was born in a country called America, on Earth. He said he used to be a writer. I asked him if he wrote “Spider-Man” and he said no, he wrote other things that have all been lost.
My Great-Grandfather was one of the only men to escape from Earth. The rest of the people who got seats on the Escape Pod were women and children. My Great-Grandfather says they let him on because “they needed one man to row the spaceship.” I’m not sure what he means, because there are no oars on a spaceship, but that is what he said.
My Great-Grandfather told me how scary it was when Earth became too hot to live on. The skies burned with fire day and night, and you couldn’t walk across the street without collapsing. I asked him if he had had any kind of warning about climate change, and he said yes, there’d been articles, movies, and books about how it was going to happen. I asked him if he tried to stop it from happening, and he said yes, of course. I asked him how, and he said that he had done something called recycling, which is where you throw your garbage into different-colored boxes. I asked my mom what he was talking about, and she explained that when people become as old as my Great-Grandfather their brains start to break down and it is almost like they turn back into babies.
Since my Great-Grandfather is going to die soon, and he is one of the only survivors of Earth, I decided to ask him what his favorite memory of the planet was. I thought he might tell me about the end of World War Four or going to see “Spider-Man,” but instead he told me about the first date he went on with his wife, my Great-Grandmother Kathleen. They met in College, which is a place people used to go to after high school to drink alcohol. Some people drank so much there that they died.
My Great-Grandfather said that when he was in College online dating hadn’t been invented yet. Instead of matching with someone through a dating app and sending a series of nude photos to each other before eventually meeting up for sex, you would meet them in person, before doing anything else. This meant that when my Great-Grandparents went out for the first time, they had no idea what each other looked like naked. At this point my mother, who was recording our interview, told my Great-Grandfather that he was being inappropriate, because this was a project for school, and he apologized, but said that the naked stuff was “crucial to the story” and that he was going to keep bringing it up whenever it was relevant.
My Great-Grandfather explained that not only had they not seen each other naked, he wasn’t sure if my Great-Grandmother wanted that to happen. Sometimes, in those days, when someone agreed to go out on a date with you, they were still undecided about the naked thing, and wanted to learn more personal information about you before making up their mind. Since this was before social media, the only way to get this personal information was by asking people questions to their face, as if their actual, living, breathing face was their social-media profile. Sometimes this would get embarrassing. Like, you might ask, “What do your parents do?” and they would say, “My parents are dead.” And then you would have to say something like “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that because I have no information about you. We are strangers.” And sometimes the other person would forgive you, but sometimes they would not. Also, sometimes the person you’d asked out on a date would not even know it was a date, because they had assumed that you were gay, or they found you so unattractive that it had not even occurred to them that you might be pursuing them romantically—like, that notion was so sick to them that it had truly not even crossed their mind. And sometimes they would convey this information to you in the middle of dinner—that they considered you a friend and nothing more—and to make the situation less humiliating you would have to pretend that you felt the same way, and keep on smiling all night, even though you’d just learned that this person you hoped you might see naked was so repulsed by you that even though you had invited them to a Spanish restaurant, it had legitimately never entered their mind that you were hoping for intimacy, because that would be as insane as being asked out by, like, a dog or a potato.
The point, my Great-Grandfather said, is that he had no idea what my Great-Grandmother thought about him. He had no idea what she thought about anything. He had zero information about her, other than what she looked like wearing clothes, and also how it sounded when she laughed, which she had done a couple of times on their long, slow walk through campus, with the cool fall breeze whipping through the scattered leaves.
My Great-Grandfather said that all dates began with the same custom. The two people on the date would take turns verbally listing all the TV shows they liked. If they both liked the same show, they’d exchange memes from it. But here’s the thing: gifs did not exist yet. So instead of texting the other person a funny moment from a show, you would say out loud, “Do you remember the part when . . .” and then you would perform the meme yourself, using your face and body to imitate what an actor had said and done. Exchanging memes in person was much scarier than doing it by text, because when you text someone a meme and they don’t respond, you can tell yourself that maybe they liked it but just didn’t have time to text you back. But when you performed a meme in person, and the other person didn’t like it, you would be able to tell, because instead of laughing they would just kind of sadly look away and say, “Yeah, I remember that part.” And you would have to just keep on walking to the restaurant.
Luckily, though, my Great-Grandfather’s meme performances went over well, or at least well enough to keep the conversation going. And while he still had no idea whether he and my Great-Grandmother would ever see each other naked, he knew that it was at least technically still possible.
My Great-Grandfather had invited my Great-Grandmother to a Spanish restaurant, because it was the only restaurant he knew that served wine to people under twenty-one. But when they arrived it was too crowded to get a table. They needed to find some other place to eat, but neither of them had Internet access, so their only option was to physically search for food, by walking around and looking in random directions, like, truly the same process used by animals. Things grew tense. The sun had set, and my Great-Grandfather was fearful they would not be able to find alcohol. But after a few stressful minutes they followed the scent of fried food around a corner and found a Chinese place that served beer, and they were so proud of themselves that they spontaneously high-fived, and that was the first time that they touched.
My Great-Grandfather told me that they stayed at the restaurant so long that by the end they were the only customers left. Because they were strangers, they asked each other pretty basic questions, like “Who are you? Where did you come from? What kind of a person are you?” They ended up having a lot of things in common, which was exciting, because that didn’t usually happen on a date. Often the other person would dislike things you liked, or love things that you hated, or things would seem to be going pretty well, and the person would seem really nice, but then out of the blue they would say, “What is your relationship with Jesus Christ?”
My Great-Grandfather said that the main thing he talked to my Great-Grandmother about was how nervous they both were about the future. I asked if he meant climate change, and he admitted that the imminent climate holocaust hadn’t come up much, and instead they’d mostly talked about their careers. It turned out they both had the same dream: to write stories down onto pieces of paper. In fact, they were both already trying to do that. Every day, they would each type out stories on computers and then print them with ink onto pieces of white paper. Their goal was to get better at making these paper stories, in the hopes that someday they might be able to persuade someone to reprint their paper stories onto multiple pieces of paper, and then sell those pieces of paper for pieces of money, which were also made of paper. At this point, my mother whispered to me that it was time for my Great-Grandfather to take a nap, and she gave him some medicine which made him sleep for about four hours. When he woke up, though, he was still insisting that all this paper stuff was real, and that it was their actual shared ambition to write stories down on paper and then sell the paper for more paper. And my mother smiled and rubbed his hand and said that she believed him, but while she was doing that she buzzed for the doctor, and he brought in this huge syringe that was almost like a gun, because it was made out of metal and it had this trigger on the bottom, and the doctor explained that he was going to shoot this thing into my Great-Grandfather’s brain, to make him less confused. And my Great-Grandfather laughed weirdly and said that he had been joking about “all that paper stuff,” and that really what he and his wife had talked about on their first date was climate change, because that’s what any sane person from that era would have prioritized: being a climate warrior. And the doctor looked into my Great-Grandfather’s eyes, with his finger on the trigger, and said, “Are you sure?” And my Great-Grandfather swallowed and said, “Yep!” And so the doctor left, but on his way out he told my mom that he would stay nearby, in case my Great-Grandfather got confused again, in which case he would come back and give him that gun shot, right in the middle of his brain.
And my Great-Grandfather was quiet for a while, almost like he was afraid to keep going with his story, but when I pressed him for more information, he said the main thing he wanted me to know before was not what he and my Great-Grandmother talked about, it was how they talked, because even though they were basically still strangers, who had never even seen each other naked, they somehow believed in each other from the start.
My Great-Grandfather told me that all dates ended with the same custom. After the two people had finished all the alcohol they’d been served, one person would ask the other to come over to their dorm room to watch “Arrested Development.” “Arrested Development” was a non-“Spider-Man” show that you played by putting small, round disks into a machine. The reason it existed was to create a way for people on dates to gauge each other’s interest in becoming naked, without having to directly ask them. The way this worked was a little complicated, but my Great-Grandfather was able to explain all the steps. First, you asked the other person if they had seen “Arrested Development,” and they would respond, “Some, but not all of it.” This would be your prompt to ask them if they wanted to come to your dorm room to watch the episodes they’d missed. If they didn’t want to see you naked, they would say that they had to “finish a paper,” which was an expression that meant that they were not attracted to you. If they did agree to watch “Arrested Development,” it meant that they probably wanted to see you naked. But here’s where it gets complicated: sometimes it didn’t mean that. Sometimes it just meant that they wanted to watch “Arrested Development.”
That’s why there was a third part of the custom: after walking back to your dorm room and putting one of the disks into the disk-playing machine, you would sit side by side on a small couch. Your eyes would be facing the screen, but your attention would be focussed entirely on each other. As “Arrested Development” played, you would physically move closer to the other person, inch by inch, without making any sudden movements. The idea was that, if you both moved incrementally toward each other, eventually your hands would touch. If the other person pulled their hand away, or laughed and said “Sorry!,” that meant they had really, truly come to watch “Arrested Development.” But if they did not pull their hand away from yours, that meant it was time to start kissing, which is what my Great-Grandparents did, even though they had never exchanged even the most rudimentary of nudes, and at this point my mother told him to stop telling the story, and he had to admit that the next part was genuinely inappropriate.
My Great-Grandfather said that their marriage wasn’t perfect. Sometimes they argued, and in the 2050s they both had full-fledged affairs with sex robots. But they ultimately forgave each other, because nobody’s perfect, and also by the 2050s sex robots had become extremely advanced, and also incredibly persuasive—like, if you refused to have sex with them, they would start making really high-level philosophical arguments about “why it wasn’t wrong,” using logic that was essentially bulletproof, while their boobs and dicks lit up and spun and stuff, and eventually it got to the point where the U.N. had to regulate the Sex Robot Industry, because they needed people to leave their apartments again, so we could go back to being a society.
The point is, my Great-Grandparents rekindled their romance in the 2060s, and they even ended up renewing their vows, while riding on the Escape Pod to New Earth, in front of their daughters and their grandchildren. And my Great-Grandfather asked my mom if she could remember the ceremony, and she said she was only four at the time, but she did vaguely remember how weird it was to see him on the spaceship, when it was supposed to be just for women and children, and my Great-Grandfather said that they needed to bring one man to “help the women lift their bags into the overhead compartments,” and I reminded him that earlier he’d said he’d been on the ship to row an oar, and there was a long pause, and then he said that he was tired and had to go to sleep. And he closed his eyes, but it didn’t really look like he was sleeping, because every few seconds he would open them to check if we were still there, and when he saw we were he would quickly close his eyes again.
And it was around this time that my Great-Grandmother rolled up in her wheelchair. And my Great-Grandfather stopped pretending to be asleep, and he sat up and smiled, and she smiled back, and then he looked into her eyes and said, “Do you want to watch ‘Arrested Development’?” And my mom reminded my Great-Grandfather that “Arrested Development” has been lost, along with everything else on Earth, because of his generation’s crimes against humanity. But my Great-Grandfather ignored her and motioned for his wife to wheel next to him. And he flipped through random channels, while their hands inched slowly toward each other.
And that’s when I finally figured out what the Earth was really like.
It was kind of like “Arrested Development.”
It was something people talked about, and praised, and maybe even tried to save, but the whole time what everybody secretly, actually cared about was the person sitting next to them. That’s where all of mankind’s effort went, the sweat and the toil of billions, not to saving the world but to the frantic, desperate quest for love. And that’s why the Earth is gone, because it was nothing more than a conversation starter. It wasn’t what we really, truly cared about. We never even really lived there. We lived in the presence of each other.
And when my mom read my first draft of this, she said that I shouldn’t end it this way, because it’s glib and defeatist and deeply problematic, and seems to absolve my Great-Grandfather for his political inaction, but it’s not like anybody’s going to read this stupid essay, and even if they do it’ll eventually be lost, like everything else besides “Spider-Man,” so I’m just going to stop it right here, because I want to go out and the night’s still young. ♦
Re: Some mirth
Brilliant! Thanks for the above.
Re: Some mirth
From New Yorker Magazine today:
Mike Lindell waits outside the West Wing of the White House.
Photograph by Drew Angerer / Getty
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—The Federal Bureau of Investigation has seized the cell phone of Mike Lindell, better known as the MyPillow guy, in the belief that he may have “committed crimes beyond selling shitty pillows,” an F.B.I. spokesman has confirmed.
Although the F.B.I. took custody of Lindell’s phone, they did not seize any of his pillows. “Nobody wanted those,” the spokesman said.
Shortly after the seizure, Republicans claimed that the Attorney General, Merrick Garland, was acting out of a personal vendetta because he had purchased a MyPillow and had been upset by how shitty it was.
“I did not purchase a MyPillow,” Garland clarified in a prepared statement. “However, I have heard that they suck.”
Lindell received vehement support from another Republican luminary, Don Bolduc, the G.O.P. nominee for U.S. Senate in New Hampshire. “This is a rigged witch hunt,” Bolduc said. “The MyPillow guy has never sold a pillow.”
Mike Lindell waits outside the West Wing of the White House.
Photograph by Drew Angerer / Getty
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—The Federal Bureau of Investigation has seized the cell phone of Mike Lindell, better known as the MyPillow guy, in the belief that he may have “committed crimes beyond selling shitty pillows,” an F.B.I. spokesman has confirmed.
Although the F.B.I. took custody of Lindell’s phone, they did not seize any of his pillows. “Nobody wanted those,” the spokesman said.
Shortly after the seizure, Republicans claimed that the Attorney General, Merrick Garland, was acting out of a personal vendetta because he had purchased a MyPillow and had been upset by how shitty it was.
“I did not purchase a MyPillow,” Garland clarified in a prepared statement. “However, I have heard that they suck.”
Lindell received vehement support from another Republican luminary, Don Bolduc, the G.O.P. nominee for U.S. Senate in New Hampshire. “This is a rigged witch hunt,” Bolduc said. “The MyPillow guy has never sold a pillow.”
Re: Some mirth
Dan Quayle not the only one, of course, but here is Borowitz from the New Yorker today:
"I recently spoke with David Remnick on The New Yorker Radio Hour about my new book, “Profiles in Ignorance: How America’s Politicians Got Dumb and Dumber.” Unlike The Borowitz Report, which satirizes the news, “Profiles in Ignorance” is factual: the gaffes, misstatements, and fiascos it describes are often shocking and embarrassing—and, to the misfortune of the American people, they all really happened. One of the book’s towering figures is our forty-fourth Vice-President, Dan Quayle, about whom the humorist Molly Ivins once said, “If you put that man’s brain in a bumblebee, it would fly backwards.”
"Although the hapless Quayle is perhaps most remembered for his failure to spell “potato” during a visit to a middle-school classroom, in 1992, that episode has overshadowed his greatest contribution to American history: an unmatched catalogue of incoherent utterances, many of which are small masterpieces of surrealism. In the interest of giving the man his due, I offer below the “Complete Knowledge of Dan Quayle” (unabridged)."
—Andy Borowitz
Dan Quayle on Education
“Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children.”
“We’re going to have the best-educated American people in the world.”
“You take the United Negro College Fund model—that what a waste it is to lose one’s mind, or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.”
Dan Quayle on Geography
“We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are a part of Europe.”
“I love California. I practically grew up in Phoenix.”
“It’s wonderful to be here in the great state of Chicago.”
“The western part of Pennsylvania is very, uh, Midwestern. Midwestern. And the eastern part is more . . . east. Uh, the Midwest . . . Uh, Pennsylvania is a very important state, a big state. The western part is—Pennsylvania is a divided state, like Tennessee is divided into three parts. Pennsylvania is divided into two parts. You have western Pennsylvania and then you have eastern Pennsylvania.”
“Hawaii is a small state. It is a state that is by itself. It is a—it is different than the other forty-nine states. Well, all states are different, but it’s got a particularly unique situation.”
“Hawaii has always been a very pivotal role in the Pacific. It is in the Pacific. It is a part of the United States that is an island that is right here.”
Dan Quayle on Outer Space
“Space is almost infinite. As a matter of fact, we think it is infinite.”
“For NASA, space is still a high priority.”
“It’s time for the human race to enter the solar system.”
“Mars is essentially in the same orbit. Mars is somewhat the same distance from the Sun, which is very important. We have seen pictures where there are canals, we believe, and water. If there is water, that means there is oxygen. If oxygen, that means we can breathe.”
Dan Quayle on Family Values
“Illegitimacy is something we should talk about in terms of not having it.”
“Republicans understand the importance of bondage between parent and child.”
Dan Quayle on Politics
“This election is about who’s going to be the next President of the United States.”
“One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Vice-President, and that one word is ‘to be prepared.’ ”
Dan Quayle, Master Detective
“When I have been asked during these last weeks who caused the riots and the killing in L.A., my answer has been direct and simple. Who is to blame for the riots? The rioters are to blame. Who is to blame for the killings? The killers are to blame.”
Dan Quayle, Time Traveller
“The real question for 1988 is whether we’re going to go forward to tomorrow, or past to the . . . to the back.”
“I have made good judgments in the past. I have made good judgments in the future.”
“The future will be better tomorrow.”
“The Holocaust was an obscene period in our nation’s history. I mean, in this century’s history. But we all lived in this century. I didn’t live in this century.”
And, finally, Zen Quayle:
“Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.”
“We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur.”
“I stand by all the misstatements that I’ve made.”
"I recently spoke with David Remnick on The New Yorker Radio Hour about my new book, “Profiles in Ignorance: How America’s Politicians Got Dumb and Dumber.” Unlike The Borowitz Report, which satirizes the news, “Profiles in Ignorance” is factual: the gaffes, misstatements, and fiascos it describes are often shocking and embarrassing—and, to the misfortune of the American people, they all really happened. One of the book’s towering figures is our forty-fourth Vice-President, Dan Quayle, about whom the humorist Molly Ivins once said, “If you put that man’s brain in a bumblebee, it would fly backwards.”
"Although the hapless Quayle is perhaps most remembered for his failure to spell “potato” during a visit to a middle-school classroom, in 1992, that episode has overshadowed his greatest contribution to American history: an unmatched catalogue of incoherent utterances, many of which are small masterpieces of surrealism. In the interest of giving the man his due, I offer below the “Complete Knowledge of Dan Quayle” (unabridged)."
—Andy Borowitz
Dan Quayle on Education
“Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children.”
“We’re going to have the best-educated American people in the world.”
“You take the United Negro College Fund model—that what a waste it is to lose one’s mind, or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.”
Dan Quayle on Geography
“We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are a part of Europe.”
“I love California. I practically grew up in Phoenix.”
“It’s wonderful to be here in the great state of Chicago.”
“The western part of Pennsylvania is very, uh, Midwestern. Midwestern. And the eastern part is more . . . east. Uh, the Midwest . . . Uh, Pennsylvania is a very important state, a big state. The western part is—Pennsylvania is a divided state, like Tennessee is divided into three parts. Pennsylvania is divided into two parts. You have western Pennsylvania and then you have eastern Pennsylvania.”
“Hawaii is a small state. It is a state that is by itself. It is a—it is different than the other forty-nine states. Well, all states are different, but it’s got a particularly unique situation.”
“Hawaii has always been a very pivotal role in the Pacific. It is in the Pacific. It is a part of the United States that is an island that is right here.”
Dan Quayle on Outer Space
“Space is almost infinite. As a matter of fact, we think it is infinite.”
“For NASA, space is still a high priority.”
“It’s time for the human race to enter the solar system.”
“Mars is essentially in the same orbit. Mars is somewhat the same distance from the Sun, which is very important. We have seen pictures where there are canals, we believe, and water. If there is water, that means there is oxygen. If oxygen, that means we can breathe.”
Dan Quayle on Family Values
“Illegitimacy is something we should talk about in terms of not having it.”
“Republicans understand the importance of bondage between parent and child.”
Dan Quayle on Politics
“This election is about who’s going to be the next President of the United States.”
“One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Vice-President, and that one word is ‘to be prepared.’ ”
Dan Quayle, Master Detective
“When I have been asked during these last weeks who caused the riots and the killing in L.A., my answer has been direct and simple. Who is to blame for the riots? The rioters are to blame. Who is to blame for the killings? The killers are to blame.”
Dan Quayle, Time Traveller
“The real question for 1988 is whether we’re going to go forward to tomorrow, or past to the . . . to the back.”
“I have made good judgments in the past. I have made good judgments in the future.”
“The future will be better tomorrow.”
“The Holocaust was an obscene period in our nation’s history. I mean, in this century’s history. But we all lived in this century. I didn’t live in this century.”
And, finally, Zen Quayle:
“Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.”
“We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur.”
“I stand by all the misstatements that I’ve made.”
Re: Some mirth
I love these, most of which I already know. I balance the positive and negative to achieve yin/yang with Joseph Heller's "everychange is for the worse" and Quayle"s "the future will be better tomorrow"
Borowitz missed the immortal "I wish I'd learned Latin at school so I could speak to Latin Americans".
Borowitz missed the immortal "I wish I'd learned Latin at school so I could speak to Latin Americans".
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jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Re: Some mirth
That clumsy caricature of Joe Biden looks more like Clint Eastwood pulling his finger in Gran Torino: It could have been captioned, "Get off my lawn, Dragon Lady!"
So, here's one that's both professionally rendered and actually funny.
_____________________
“The smear campaign against critical race theory is almost certainly the start of an attempt to subject education in general to rule by the right-wing thought police.” (Dr. Paul Krugman)
"Alternative facts aren't facts, they are falsehoods.” (Chuck Todd)
“If you believe that everyone should play by the same rules and be judged by the same standards, that would have gotten you denounced as a communist 75 years ago, a socialist 50 years ago, and a Lefty radical today.” (Die Entführung aus dem Serail)
So, here's one that's both professionally rendered and actually funny.
_____________________
“The smear campaign against critical race theory is almost certainly the start of an attempt to subject education in general to rule by the right-wing thought police.” (Dr. Paul Krugman)
"Alternative facts aren't facts, they are falsehoods.” (Chuck Todd)
“If you believe that everyone should play by the same rules and be judged by the same standards, that would have gotten you denounced as a communist 75 years ago, a socialist 50 years ago, and a Lefty radical today.” (Die Entführung aus dem Serail)
Last edited by jserraglio on Sun Sep 18, 2022 10:55 am, edited 5 times in total.
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jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Re: Some mirth
And the following gaffe is endearing to me, It came from mid-1960’s Cleveland mayor, the late Ralph S. Locher, a basically decent man blindsided by urban warfare he had never signed up for.
In an off-the-cuff remark, I heard him call the commandments given to Moses on Mt. Sinai “ten truisms that will live forever”.
Re: Some mirth
What's funny about this is the way the left wing media has so breathlessly billed and cooed about this person's 'bravery' and how it was 'the highlight of the ceremony'. I feel disheartened and nauseated by all of the condescension. In reality, it's sick to see an aggressive rugby league player dressed up as a trans woman. His lefty enablers are part of the problem.
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jserraglio
- Posts: 11954
- Joined: Sun May 29, 2005 7:06 am
- Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Re: Some mirth
We know the feeling.
_____________________
“The smear campaign against critical race theory is almost certainly the start of an attempt to subject education in general to rule by the right-wing thought police.” (Dr. Paul Krugman)
"Alternative facts aren't facts, they are falsehoods.” (Chuck Todd)
“If you believe that everyone should play by the same rules and be judged by the same standards, that would have gotten you denounced as a communist 75 years ago, a socialist 50 years ago, and a Lefty radical today.” (Die Entführung aus dem Serail)
Last edited by jserraglio on Tue Sep 20, 2022 8:17 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Some mirth
One problem: Laidley was a distinguished Australian Rules player and less successful coach. I doubt he ever played rugby league.Belle wrote: ↑Sun Sep 18, 2022 4:38 pmWhat's funny about this is the way the left wing media has so breathlessly billed and cooed about this person's 'bravery' and how it was 'the highlight of the ceremony'. I feel disheartened and nauseated by all of the condescension. In reality, it's sick to see an aggressive rugby league player dressed up as a trans woman. His lefty enablers are part of the problem.
Re: Some mirth
Trump Demands Special Master Be Fired and Replaced with Extra-Special Master
By Andy Borowitz
September 20, 2022
PALM BEACH (The Borowitz Report)—Infuriated by Judge Raymond Dearie’s requests for information in the Mar-a-Lago documents case, Donald J. Trump has demanded that the special master be fired and replaced with what he called “an extra-special master.”
“This Dearie, he’s a beauty, he really is,” Trump told reporters. “He’s asking for information. He’s asking for information like you wouldn’t believe. He’s a bad or sick guy.”
Pressed to explain what he meant by an “extra-special master,” Trump said, “We need somebody in there, somebody who’s more special than this Dearie joker. If Dearie is special, then I don’t know what special is.”
Claiming that Dearie is “rigged against me,” Trump said, “After that guy is fired and goes back to Antifa or wherever he came from, we’ve got to find out what idiot chose him in the first place. This should never be allowed to happen in our country.”
By Andy Borowitz
September 20, 2022
PALM BEACH (The Borowitz Report)—Infuriated by Judge Raymond Dearie’s requests for information in the Mar-a-Lago documents case, Donald J. Trump has demanded that the special master be fired and replaced with what he called “an extra-special master.”
“This Dearie, he’s a beauty, he really is,” Trump told reporters. “He’s asking for information. He’s asking for information like you wouldn’t believe. He’s a bad or sick guy.”
Pressed to explain what he meant by an “extra-special master,” Trump said, “We need somebody in there, somebody who’s more special than this Dearie joker. If Dearie is special, then I don’t know what special is.”
Claiming that Dearie is “rigged against me,” Trump said, “After that guy is fired and goes back to Antifa or wherever he came from, we’ve got to find out what idiot chose him in the first place. This should never be allowed to happen in our country.”
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