The cover of the Daft Punks’ first LP, when they were a quartet. They are now a threetet.

The Daft Punks were pioneers of the musical genre.

The Daft Punks are from France but always sing in American.

The Daft Punks were named after a founding member who was the original creative genius behind the band, but who went mental from too taking much acid and wound up dropping out to start a hedge fund: his name was Little Steven Daft Punk.

The Daft Punks only want to blend into the woodwork, which is why they just wish people would stop staring at them in their shiny custom-made robot costumes already.

If the Daft Punks fall in a forest, no one will hear it, but only because it hasn’t been leaked to one of the trendy music blogs yet.

They have a new album out, but you’d never know it, because the Daft Punks live by the axiom, “It’s best to hide your light under a bushel.”

The Daft Punks employ a man whose only job is to lubricate their organs.

In addition to the genre, the Daft Punks invented sliced bread.

When they are not being totally awesome, the Daft Punks lay around being merely fantastic.

The Daft Punks do a killer version of “John Henry,” but will only play it as the fourth encore for an especially cool and deserving audience, which so far has never happened.

First the so-cute-it-might-be-fake kitten and pug:

In our second feature, gruff bulldog Marc Anthony unexpectedly falls in love with a little kitten. But he’s afraid his bitchy mom won’t let him keep it!

Floridly expressive character eyes were a Chuck Jones trademark, and nowhere are they more in evidence than in “Feed the Kitty.”

Check it out:

Guilty eyes: 3:41

Single eye of despair: 5:06

Tear-swollen eyes: 5:28

With extra grief: 5:39

Surprised relief: 6:28

Cat’s finally finished makin’ biscuits: 7:05

 
NOTE: The Warner Bros. cartoon above is in Flash. If you’re on an iOS device and don’t see it, that’s why.  

What is it, only Monday? And look at me already. My nerves are shot, and if there’s just one more thing… Well, I don’t even want to think about it.

No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s the same old thing over and over, all the time. You see this? You see how my eyelid is twitching? Well, if you looked closer, you could see it. No! Stay away. I don’t need you getting that close to me right now. Just take my word for it, it’s twitching.

And why? Because I’m up to here with all… all of this.

It’s the same thing every week. Do you think I have time for this? What, I’m an idiot? I got nothing better to do than be a basket case all week? I’m a bad person so I should be so stressed out all the time?

You think I couldn’t pick up the phone and get transferred to the Utica office right now? Because I could. And it’d serve you right. Because then you’d get a little glimpse of my world. And let’s see how long you last before your first nervous breakdown. Because I’ve had dozens in my time here, my friend. And I’m up to here with it.

You hear me? Up to here. 

You think they put up with this kind of nonsense in Utica? Well, I’ve got news for you, my friend. They don’t. No one does. What sane person would put up with this week after week? Other than me, that is. And the freakin’ jury is still out about my sanity. 

I’m too nice, is what it is. And look where it gets me. Monday morning and I’m a total wreck.

Do you want to be the one responsible for my head exploding? Do you want to be the one cleaning my brains off the wainscoting?

No, I didn’t think so.

So, I’m telling you again.

Do not.

Start.

With me.

Today. 

Click to view on Amazon.com

And “The Good Nurse” by Charles Graeber is a good ‘un. But, hey, guess what—the title is ironic. 

Because the nurse who is the subject of this book? He wasn’t good. No. Not at all. 

In fact, an un-ironic title for the book could have been—SPOILER ALERT!—“The Cold-Blooded, Creepy-Ass Murderous Psychopath Nurse.” 

This is the story of Charles Cullen, a registered nurse who over the course of 16 years at eight different hospitals killed an astonishing number of patients—no one, not even him, knows how many. But it was almost certainly in the hundreds. 

I ripped through these 320 pages in a day and a half. Riveting stuff. 

What makes this a “good” true crime book? It’s well-written and well-researched. It’s not a cut-and-paste job of reporting done by others. And, unusually, Graeber actually had the opportunity to interview his subject in prison. 

Graeber is able to tell his story in straightforward compelling prose, without resorting to the suppositional narrative claptrap that drives me insane. “The air was cool and smelled of hyacinths on the fateful morning of July 23, 1997.” 

I hate that stuff, and to me it’s a dead giveaway that the author doesn’t have enough solid factual information to tell the story without limning the fuzzy details around the edges, either because he or she didn’t try to get the facts, or because too much time had passed by the time the author’s research started. 

Graeber didn’t have that problem. He has facts. He has contemporary witness and participant interviews. He doesn’t need to lard his story with narrative curlicues.

Almost as horrifying as the crimes themselves are the particulars of various hospital administrators playing CYA. That’s how Cullen was able to find gainful employment year after year and job after job, giving him access to an endless supply of victims. 

There have been other notorious “Angel of Death” nurse-killer stories, of course. In fact, criminal profilers have classified these types of killers into two main categories, with the murderous medical workers in each category sharing the same basic motivation. 

Charles Cullen did not fall into either category. His motivation was unique. That’s one of the reasons his killing career lasted as long as it did, and one of the reasons “The Good Nurse” is such a compelling read. 

Well, now I think I do know, and I shouldn’t really have had to think about it at all. 

The useful analogy I thought of was the cashier who has his back turned while the cash drawer is open. 

If you’re his customer, do you have the right to up and grab that cash just because the business is vulnerable right then? No. That’s stealing. 

It’s the same thing with these guys. They just figured out a sneakier way to open the cash drawer when no one was looking. 

It’s up for the court to decide whether they are technically guilty of violating the crimes defined in the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986. But, yeah, I think it was criminal.

Yes, even though the victims were casinos. What they do is legal, and the payouts on all their games are strictly regulated.

The only steady, legal way to make money at a casino is to own one.

Robert Downey Jr. is
Iron-poor Blood Man
“He’s sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

In a world where the stresses of life and work mount continuously and threaten to overwhelm him, one man, Austin, TX freelance interactive copywriter Rich Malley (Robert Downey Jr.), must conquer the forces of lassitude and drag his ass out of bed every morning, even though he, “just kinda feels pooped all the time.” But does “Geritol,” the mysterious potion he finds in his medicine cabinet, hold the key to his redemption?

Robert Downey Jr. in
LinkedIn
“Four score and seven connections ago…”

In a world where it’s not what you know, but who you know, one man, Austin, TX freelance interactive copywriter Rich Malley (Robert Downey Jr.), attempts to click his way to into the staffing databases of the most powerful creative agencies in town. But challenges loom, and disappointment awaits. Can he gain the contacts that will help him hold the tenuous union between his balance sheet liabilities and his actual cash on hand together?

Robert Downey Jr. in
Fast and Furiously 3D
“They don’t call them ‘deadlines’ for nothing.”

In a world where my one of my client’s clients suddenly realizes, “Oh, we do have the budget to do that new mobile app in Q3 after all,” one man, Austin, TX freelance interactive copywriter Rich Malley (Robert Downey Jr.), must engage in heated battle with a batch of hastily re-purposed and partially incomplete wireframes, in an attempt to ward off a crappy user experience for thousands, and save the sanity of the overwhelmed reps of the vastly understaffed support desk. But can he do it before his head explodes and his brains fly straight toward the screen in full 3D?

This article in the Times says that many garment manufacturers are starting to do something similar on their own initiative, spurred by growing consumer demand. It also cites a survey that confirms that consumers, even consumers of budget-priced clothing, would willingly pay more for garments they knew were produced under non-sweatshop conditions. 

As individuals, we consumers can feel our voices are insignificant. As a bloc, we wield enormous power. It would be great to see that power used to improve the working conditions of garment workers globally.