The meaning of life

I'm starting to like my flatmate Robert. Is that allowed? He's the one who doesn't talk at me all the time. We talk now and then, casually, but he knows how to shut up too, and he has a sense of humor.

Oct. 2, 2022

He's mentioned that he's had mental or emotional problems, which is usually a clear marker of sanity. He goes to church, but he's never invited me, never inquired after my soul.

A few days ago, on what I hope was the last hot day of summer, Robert and I were both in the kitchen making our respective lunches.

From down the hall, our rarely-seen fourth flatmate L emerged, and he was kinda pissed off. We don't see L often, but when we do, he's usually pissed off about something.

That day he'd wanted the front and back doors to be left open, to let a breeze blow through the house and keep it from feeling like a microwave. He was pissed off that the doors weren't already open, so he opened them both, said something pissy, slammed his door and went back into his room. That's L.

I could already feel the temperature dropping, so I wasn't really hesitant, but I said, "With the doors wide open, anyone could walk in."

"This is a quiet neighborhood," Robert said. "I've never seen anyone sketchy around here, except you." And with that, he vanished into his room, with his sausage and potatoes.

Yeah, I'm starting to like Robert, but L, not so much.

My dream is a world without advertising on bananas.

What's the meaning of life, you ask? Thanks for asking, but there's no meaning, no purpose. We're a lucky moment, nothing more. Try to have some fun in what little time we have, and don't be a dick.

Vin Scully worked in the baseball booth for a long long time, but until the internet told me last night, I didn't know that he called the play-by-play for three perfect games — Don Larsen's World Series fluke in 1956, Sandy Koufax's perfect game in 1965, and Dennis Martinez's perfect game in 1991. He also called 18 more no-hitters.

Not much in baseball that's more rare than a perfect game, and that dude saw three of them, but he had to keep talking all they way through all three.

I sure do like baseball, but an entire life of watching baseball and talking baseball 162 games a year plus spring training? I'm not sure about that. Would it still be fun, when you're watching baseball every day all summer, every summer of your life, when you've not only seen 10,000 games but *called 10,000 games, and a frickin' perfect game is happening in front of you… again and again?

I'll take the life I've had, thanks, with a handful of ball games every summer, but 10,000 movies.

The coding is far beyond my 1990s-era HTML comprehension, but someone's written open-source software to send messages via Morse code through vibrating anal beads, inspired by the chess cheating allegations against not-so-grand grandmaster Hans Niemann.

I've seen Thunder Road several times, but I'd never noticed  that the movie's star, Robert Mitchum, wrote the lyrics to the movie's theme song. Someone else sang the song, in the movie.

Here's Mr Mitchum singing  his "Ballad of Thunder Road."

On the bus yesterday, I talked with someone who wasn't an ass. It's honestly, seriously surprising when that happens — when someone, anyone, isn't an ass, isn't stupid, isn't boring, or when someone talks and I don't immediately wish they'd shut up.

"I'm a doctor, not a politician."

And now, the news you need, whether you know it or not… 

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To understand the scale of the climate emergency, look at hurricanes 

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Party like it’s 1789!
My weird, enlightening month living strictly by the US constitution.

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Republican states keep refusing to expand Medicaid — until you ask their voters 

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California will decriminalize jaywalking in the street, in most cases

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No one should be above the law, especially not the top prosecutor in Texas 

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Jurassic World director says the series "probably" should've ended after Spielberg's original: it's "inherently un-franchisable" 

Always we have had movie franchises, back to the Blondie movies and Andy Hardy and all, probably earlier. Never before, though, have there been so many, so dominant, and so many of them so shitty. 

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One-word newscast, because it's the same news every time...




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The End

Ray Edenton
Maarten Schmidt


Cranky Old Fart
is annoyed and complains and very occasionally offers a kindness, along with anything off the internet that's made me smile or snarl. All opinions fresh from my ass. Top illustration by Jeff Meyer. Click any image to enlarge. Comments & conversations invited.
Tip 'o the hat to Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate's Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I've stolen without saying thanks.
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S, Wynn Bruce, and always Stephanie...


  1. In 1963, at age 13 I purchased "The Ballad of Thunder Road", with lyrics and vocal by Robert Mitchum. I just ran through it in my head and surprisingly I remember almost all the lyrics.

    Sadly, somebody I was married to sold most of my vinyl for chump change after I moved out on a dark, sad night. I lifeboated the Leonard Cohen, Dylan, Fugs and a few other albums, but the rest of the albums and the old 45s vanished, like a fist when you open your hand.


    1. My condolences on the vinyl, perhaps more than the marriage.

      Knowing your passion for music, gotta suspect she sold the records to hurt you at last as much as for the money.

      Glad you got out.

    2. Thanks. The good ones were worn out anyway. I'm pretty sure I'm still talking about the records.



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