This is a true story, right down to the look on the nurse’s face when I started to ask about the pagers.
Here’s the sad thing. That clinic was in Florida. As wonky and disorganized as it could be, I’ve lived in Arizona for close to five years, and I’ve never found a clinic here I like even half as much.
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I don’t really have much to say about this comic, so instead I’ll share this story from the CBS affiliate I grew up watching, about a recent event near my home town. This is for those who believe my descriptions of Eastern Washington have been exaggerated.
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Really, any time anybody gets stabbed in the city where the Knifeketeer is active, the police would have to go at least check his alibis. Of course, Omnipresent Man and Mr. Everywhere would always be available to act as an alibis, but I get the impression they actively ignore him half the time, which would be extra frustrating.
“What do you mean you didn’t see if I didn’t do it? You were right there!”
“I wasn’t looking. I’m Mr. Everywhere, not Mr. Looks-at-everything.”
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Oh, how I would LOVE to pitch this idea on Shark Tank.
“Sharks, almost everybody with disposable income in this country has lips and armpits. The potential market is huge!”
The old “potential market” argument gets them every time!
Of course, writing this comment reminded me of this scene from The Good Place.
Which reminded me of this scene from The IT Crowd.
Which reminded me of this scene from New Girl.
All of which leads inexorably to this video from Shark Tank’s Kevin O’Leary’s own channel in which he suggests what he thinks are some great collector watches you should consider to start your collection. The clip starts right as he announces the price he paid for the first watch on his list of beginning collector’s watches. Really, you can stop it after hearing the price and you’ll have the gist of the whole video.
I would love for some cable channel to give him a show, sort of like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, only he’s the host, the rich, and the famous. Just a half hour each week of him telling us what he thinks we should think is good.
I would call the show Kevin O’Leary: Fancy, Fancy Man.
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Two things:
1. “Drunken Failure” is one of my favorite jokes I’ve ever written. Few things I’ve ever come up with make me smile as much.
2. When I was a teenager, I was convinced that Commander Riker was pretty much everything women wanted in a man. Later I talked to some women and found out that was not the case. Missy, specifically, is not impressed with him. Here’s the weird thing. No matter how many times or how emphatically women tell me they weren’t attracted to Riker, part of me always thinks they’re lying.
Note from Missy: Why would any woman go for Riker, when Picard was right there??
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If memory serves, this strip came about when Missy and I went out to dinner, and the server said they had “appetizers, salad, and soups, too.” I thought she said “soup-stew,” and after she left I asked Missy what “soup-stew” could possibly be. When Missy was done laughing at me I wrote this comic.
The great thing about Basic Instructions was that I could take any stupid thing I did, have a different character do it, and some good would come of my mistake. One downside is that to this day I get reminded of mistakes I’ve made that most people would have long forgotten by now.
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A few months back Missy and I did some house hunting. We went into more than one place that was staged with nice furniture. Many of these places had a room, or a corner of a room, staged as a den or an office. The bookshelves were always full of hardcover books, their dustjackets removed to show off the hardness of said covers. In staging the space this way they were trying to create the sense that this was a place to sit quietly and think deep thoughts, but they clearly bought the books at used book stores and thrift stores without paying much attention to the titles.
What I’m saying is, if you want to steal a copy of either Twilight or Fifty Shades of Gray, go tour a model home.
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I have commented many times that being a sci-fi fan and being a sports fan are more alike than they are different. Fantasy sports blur that line even more. As near as I can tell, the primary difference between fantasy sports and role-playing games is that in fantasy sports, real life is your dungeon master. Also, you can bet on them.
I wonder how many Las Vegas executives have tried to come up with some way to take bets on D&D or Magic the Gathering.
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A long, long time ago I worked at a juice bar in the lobby of a health club. Our most popular item was Snickers, but that’s not my point.
One of the salesmen was a guy who was not a good-looking man. His girlfriend was a model, in that she was paying for a service that provided modeling classes and would act as your “agent” if you paid them a fee, which is not how agents work.
Anyway, her modeling coach/agent convinced this poor dumpy salesman that he could be a male model too. The first thing they did, after cashing his check, was put him on a strict diet. Because I worked at a juice bar, he believed I had some nutritional expertise, which I emphatically did not. He kept at it and would constantly come up to the juice bar to ask me how many calories were in various things he wanted to eat. First it was just stuff at the juice bar, then it was things he wanted to buy elsewhere. Finally, one day, he called me from home to ask me how many calories there were in a teaspoon of mustard.
I told him that this was madness. That he was starving himself for no good reason, and that some day he was going to pass out while he was at work or possibly even while he was driving his car, and that if he was lucky he would wake up in the hospital with an IV of glucose solution stuck in his arm, and then he would call me to ask me how many calories there are in glucose solution.
He laughed and told me I was right, and he would stop. Calling me, that is. He didn’t stop the modeling classes with the pre-paid agent. He just gave up on coming to me for help, which I took as a victory.
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I completely understand women not liking being called “chicks.” I just point out that there’s no non-insulting female equivalent to the word “guy.” This is not in any way women’s fault.
Here’s a fun game, if by “fun” you mean “revealing and depressing.” Try to find a synonym for woman that hasn’t taken on some insulting overtone.
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