I keep getting spam mail from a woman named Ulyanna. At least I think it's spam. If your name is Ulyanna and you really are looking to meet nice boys for fun and romance, hit me up. I have just the guy for you. His name is Reynaldo and he sells male enhancement products. An old pen pal of mine.
Parental discretion advised
Happy Father's Day, you fathers. You know, that's not nearly as fun as ending a sentence with "you mothers." I couldn't tell you why, exactly.
Ol' Bill Eldridge, a man I have never met, is at it again. His latest caricature details my new book "Guys Named Jack," which can be found at marklaflamme.com or at your favorite online seller website. Awesome opportunity for an unabashed plug. Now, what was I talking about? Oh, right. Bill Eldridge, the brilliant artist who has created sketches of me in various forms, including one where I had a Buddha belly for some reason, and nipples the size of pepperonis. In his latest, it's not me, but a group of Jacks from the book. One has spiked hair, one has nerd glasses, one looks like a hayseed. It's like he's read the book! Which he hasn't. "I, of course, don't have a clue about the content of your new book," he writes in the lower corner. He then goes on to place my name with the likes of King, Koontz, Hemingway, Mailer and – this is particularly astute – Mad Magazine. You're all right, Bill Eldridge. I mean, I assume.
Is it me? Or are at least half the streets in Lewiston closed down on any given day this spring? It's never the same streets twice. One day, Walnut Street is open, the next day it is not. Same with all the sides streets, where signs and heavy machinery appear for no apparent reason. You might pass it off as routine construction, but not me. I think they're secretly digging up something that happens to be the size of the downtown. Can you say extraterrestrial craft? You scoff now, but wait until they retrieve an alien creature from the tree streets and that creature promptly joins the mayoral race.
Vote for this guy
And speaking of the mayoral race, I'm voting for the big, fair-skinned former cop. He's way better than that other guy.
Ah, go row your boat
It's official: After revealing that I paddled a canoe backward from Malaga Island, I've heard every boating joke known to man. So don't even try laying new ones on me. It's a dang good thing you people never heard about my unfortunate mishap with a pogo stick.
Boing, boing, splurt
That's what the unfortunate pogo mishap sounded like.
Tickle your ivories?
If you'd like me to come to your house and play this column on the piano while you eat a hearty, nutritious breakfast . . . I won't do it, but I'd enjoy being asked.