Talk of the town



Deep in the woods behind Marden’s in Lewiston, close to the Androscoggin River, I rode up on a strange scene. There, at the edge of a dirt pit, four rimless tires standing upright in the proper front-and-rear configuration. From all angles, it appeared there should be a car atop those tires, but there was not. One wit suggested that this may have been the parking spot for Wonderwoman’s car, invisible to all eyes but her own. Another funny gal, clearly deep into the glue-sniffing, labeled the sight “Firestonehenge.”

A short distance from the ghost car was another oddity: In the dirt, someone had drawn a rectangle. In the proper spot was seated a brass doorknob as though this was some portal to another dimension. Perhaps on my two-wheeling adventure, I inadvertently drove through that door and into that other realm. Sadly, it looks exactly like the same old Lewiston realm from which I came.

Tattoo you

In Lewiston on Wednesday, someone called police because a child had been left in a car parked at a tattoo parlor. Oh, don’t tell me. She was just running in for a few minutes to get her “Mom of the Year” ink finalized.


So, some naughty Republicans shelled out a couple thousand bucks at a spank club called the Voyeur. Admit it: You’ve been having lurid dreams of Limbaugh in leather chaps and a gag ball ever since this story broke. I could have gone with Sarah Palin here, but it’s not my job to titillate.

I’m sorry, what?

To the person who left me a voicemail message while apparently hanging out in a wind tunnel. My only question to your message is: Huh? All I could really make was “… love you… must kill… bomb… car.” I don’t know what it means. I’m going to go for a ride and see if I can sort it all out.

Sacred Sunday

Happy Easter, or whatever you celebrate, to you and your peeps.

Opening Day

Baseball starts tomorrow. Bring on the loss bets, the pain and humiliation. That’s what baseball is all about, right? Loss bets, pain and humiliation?

Burning desire

On Friday, a woman allegedly set fire to a poster in the lobby of the Lewiston police station. She was subsequently arrested, which establishes once more that you cannot yell “fire!” in a crowded theater and you cannot set one at a police station. Her motive, we’re told, was that she wanted to be closer to her boyfriend, who had been jailed the night before on a charge of drunken driving. In a glaring display of cruel and unusual judgment, police did not allow the couple to share a room at the jail. 

Toss your cookies

In Lewiston Wednesday night, a young lady was trying to whip the tail of her car around all macho like in a parking lot along Sabattus Street. She ended up bouncing over a curb where her car struck another and then slammed into a bar right after last call. It’s a pretty sad day when a drinker can get run over without even going near a street. It’s also further evidence that only boys can properly do cookies.