CSotD: Thoughtless Jokes
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Off the Mark sets us up for a day of thought-free giggling, and Mark Parisi gets particularly high marks for timing this to hit as our Facebook pages are clogging up with "look what I ate" postings.
If this weren't a day I intend to devote entirely to laffs, I'd add a link to this, and perhaps even add this illustration that shows how prehistoric artists depicted motion, it being problematic to create flip-books on stone walls.
I shall, however, forbear.
Or, in this case, forbison.
And, speaking of food-based humor, Dave Blazek offers this giggle at Loose Parts, and, again, there's probably some commentary I could make about the difference between raw wood and the milled boards that have been processed with fire retardants but those added chemicals are just one more thing for Mel to hide.
That, in turn, could prompt me to start blathering on about commercial lumber mills, and telling stories like the one about the time we heard dispatchers sending a medivac chopper up to a remote town with a huge mill because somebody had gotten caught in the saw, which sounded awfully grim.
We were never able to get further information, but a few months later I was up there for a friendly lumber-grading competition among mills and asked about it, which prompted horse-laughs.
Turns out "caught in the saw" was actually, "walking between the metal guard and the concrete wall while the saw is completely idle and having the unlatched guard flip itself open so that you get pinned and end up with bruised but not broken ribs."
However, dispatch had also interpreted a call about someone getting caught in the saw the way we did, and, once the bird was in the air, it had to go retrieve the embarrassed millworker because that's by-god procedure.
I won't even start on that sort of thing. Not today.
And I refuse to even smirk at today's Speed Bump, much less comment upon it.
I only include it here so you can see the appalling lack of taste and be equally appalled, as I certainly was, and did I mention that I didn't smirk? Not in the least. I certainly didn't snort audibly and thank god I didn't have a mouthful of hot coffee at the moment.
Nor did it make me think:
"Oh, my, doesn't he look like himself?"
"Yes, but they should have put a can of beer in his hand."
Because that would be terrible, and we're not terrible here.
We are, occasionally, however, subject to flashbacks, and Betty, as seen here in today's and yesterday's strips, and on a few leading up to these, seems to have picked up a case of Corporate Leprosy, the vibe alluded to, where people at the office begin to avoid you because they don't want to get blood on their work clothes when the slice happens.
I've had it twice, and, if I were going to comment, I could go on forever.
In one case, it was a new general manager and a situation in which we agreed on some things and disagreed on others.
For instance, we agreed that one of us was an enormous, flaming, gaping asshole, but we disagreed on who it was. We decided to settle it based on rank.
At another place, I had a similar clash with the boss's wife, who was full of good ideas that couldn't possibly be put into action because she didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about. We resolved that conflict based on which of us the boss had to live with.
Once you've recognized the inevitable outcome, the trick is to be cool and make them fire you without cause so you can collect unemployment.
Then the conflict boils down to how much they want to avoid an unemployment claim, and it can take awhile because they'd prefer to grind you down until you quit. And that can take awhile, too.
In any case, I hope she goes to Italy anyway, because wotthehell.
Or, as my son remarked at dinner last night, "Don't worry if your parachute gets tangled: You'll have the rest of your life to work it out."
And, given that that is the son who was in the Navy, I'll offer this sample from Mike Lynch's most recent flea-market find, a collection of cartoons by Virgil Partch, and I don't have to comment on VIP at all because I've written extensively already about how, as a small child, his work mystified and fascinated me.
Not commenting. Just juxtaposing.
Not much to comment on. I wish the real Francis could live up to the one in the comic and I suppose he does, too.
And I'm sorry so many real plutocrats manage to live up to the ones in the comics, and I suppose they don't even know how well they manage to.
I hope top hats come back in style before climate change does away with snowballs.
Now here's your moment of zen (assuming you can pay for it)
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