Mork & Mindy: In Mork We Trust (#1.21)” (1979)
Orson: The report, Mork.
Mork: This week I discovered a terrible disease called loneliness.
Orson: Do many people on Earth suffer from this disease?
Mork: Oh yes sir, and how they suffer. One man I know suffers so much he has to take a medication called bourbon, even that doesn’t help very much because then he can hear paint dry.
Orson: Does bed rest help?
Mork: No because I’ve heard that sleeping alone is part of the problem. You see, Orson, loneliness is a disease of the spirit. People who have it think that no one cares about them.
Orson: Do you have any idea why?
Mork: Yes sir you can count on me. You see, when children are young, they’re told not to talk to strangers. When they go to school, they’re told not to talk to the person next to them. Finally when they’re very old, they’re told not to talk to themselves, who’s left?
Orson: Are you saying Earthlings make each other lonely?
Mork: No sir I’m saying just the opposite. They make themeslves lonely, they’re so busy looking out for number one that there’s not enough room for two.
Orson: It’s too bad everybody down there can’t get together and find a cure.
Mork: Here’s the paradox sir because if they did get together, they wouldn’t need one.
The NeverEnding Story is a childhood classic with a neverending potential for discussion. Last week, we discussed how it’s all Artax’s fault that the generation that saw this as children turned out to be completely fucked up. Stupid horse! If you’d just stayed cheerful in the Swamps of Sadness (what, they don’t have bubblegum pop playlists in Fantasia?) you’d have made it out alive, a generation would not have wasted their adolescence pretending to be Fiona Apple and Trent Reznor, and Atreyu would have saved the world a helluva lot faster, you goddam waste of alfalfa!
Emo pony doesn’t care about your sugar. Life IS lumps, sweetie.
This week, we bring you the last thoughts of the late Artax, emo basketcase and (formerly) living proof that man’s best friend is a dog, not a goddam equine.
I’m feeling pretty crummy, if I’m honest with myself. And sort of…melon…what’s that word? Melatonin? Melancholy, that’s it. Boy, I gotta start doing the crossword again, my vocab’s gone to shit.
‘Course I never was the sharpest nail in the horseshoe.
Is the mud getting deeper or is it just me? It is just me. Atreyu! I’m, like, four feet tall all of a sudden. What the heck?
It…it just gets worse from there. Go on. Read the whole thing.
No doubt about it, Jean [Redacted] is a horrible, horrible person. How do we know that?
Lunachyq told us.
Lunachyq, a pet-centric blogger at WordPress.com, told us all about how Jean abandoned Cocoa, her sweet-natured pet of 12 years, at a kill shelter rather than drive 20 minutes to drop her off at a no-kill shelter. How Jean claimed she was giving her up only because of limited funds and a move to a no-pets apartment.
How Jean left out the bit about the tumors.
Here’s the thing, Jean. Oh, I didn’t ask if I could call you Jean but I’m going to. Or I could call you a number of other names, none of which you’d like very much. When I saw Cocoa’s picture on the animal control website, when I saw that grey muzzle and read the description stating that her people of 12 years, her family, had surrendered her to the pound, it broke my heart.
Jean, I once had a dog that was so ornery she got in trouble for biting a kid on the butt because he’d been tugging her ears. When the city quarantined my dog for 48 hours, I was fully prepared to leave my home, leave school, leave everything in the dead of night, everything except my dog. I was going to Thelma and Louise our asses right out of town. I wasn’t playing. Because that’s how I roll. No dog left behind, Jean.
So when I saw that picture of Cocoa, I just couldn’t understand why someone would dump a family member. And my empathy for that dog consumed me, until I made yet another rash decision and I rushed to the pound to adopt her.
If the Google-Maps-Finds-Stray-Dog-a-Home story has you sniffling, prepare to lose your shit entirely at the rest of the letter. I’m afraid this story doesn’t have a happy ending, but if the Internet gets its way, there won’t be one for Jean either.
Posted Sept. 10, Lunachyq’s letter has already been shared more than 10,000 times to Facebook, has 475 comments, and 165 Likes on WordPress. The Internet may be made of cats, but it’s clear that dogs are also very close to its heart.
Photo via Mario Klingemann/Flickr
Keep Calm and FUCK YOU WITH A CHAINSAW!
Sure is Monday, ain’t it?
Takes a fair bit to put me off my writing stride when I’ve got so much good material, but today had ALL of it, in bucketloads. Still, I can gloat about my TrapWire article being as far as I can tell the first in North America outside of @UpdateBen’s brilliant Storify, which you should definitely read. I got 24 Reddits. Hooboy, am I ever flattered! However, thanks to huge pickup by Anonymous (thanks, guys!) it got 428 tweets and 166 Facebook shares and likes, so Operation Global Media Domination is doing well, at least. I just wish I’d written the followup instead of us just syndicating the article from That Other Site. Still, if I can find something to FOI (and surely there must be something) I can go for it. The question is, will the bosses pay for my time rooting through the emails?
Then I hung around online for two hours I should have been working out or at least getting my butt off these cheapo Waves chairs that are gonna make some chiropractor rich just as soon as I can afford one, only to find out Ecuador can’t make up its fucking mind. DON’T THESE PEOPLE KNOW I HAVE DEADLINES???
Julian Assange, if this comes down when I’m afk I will never forgive you.
And me all out of gin. This week can only get better, right?
Happy Easter, Kids! You will be eaten first. Should we start with the ears?
Did you ever wonder what motivates the great metaphysical characters of Western civilization? What drives the Tooth Fairy to make his/her nightly rounds, exchanging discarded pieces of human skulls for cold, hard cash? Is Santa a slave to the whims of children worldwide, or is he working some grand master plan? And what are we to make of a bunny who lays chocolate eggs? What kind of creepy Pon-Farr-ish motivation or downmarket chemical stimulus drives him to his zygote-scattering frenzy?
Now we know.