To the perfectly sober fellow in Winthrop, or possibly Monmouth, who referred to me as “the coolest reporter ever.” You may be right, sir. The motorcycle, the jacket, the attitude… Why, I’m practically the Fonzie of journalism. Although, now that I think of it, it’s mainly the motorcycle. Without that, I have trouble rising to the level of Potsie.
Will be here in June. Awesome. That means for the next month, we’ll see more middle-class dorks than usual trying to show you how street they are. The two-finger hand signs, the bling, the oversized jeans hanging just above the knees. The sideways ballcaps, the elaborate handshakes, the gangsta strut that requires them to take a full 15 minutes to cross the street. The crotch clutching, the sideways shooting, the way long basketball jerseys hanging even lower than the prison-style jeans. In the next few weeks, you will see more ink than this newspaper has in its wells. We’re talking tattoos, G. Armband tats, Chinese character tats, barbed wire tats all over the place. Know what I’m saying, dawg? You’re going to see five-hundred-dollar cars shaking under the strain of thousand-dollar stereos. What you won’t see are the drivers, who will be gangsta leaning so far back, they’re almost in the trunk. This is real, playa. This is downtown, yo. Unfortunately, half of these bad asses won’t make it to the show at all. They’ll totally get grounded. Jeezum! That’s the man always trying to keep a brother down.
I’d like to point out that I was twice as cool as the kids described above when I went through my Billy Idol phase. Spiked hair, fingerless leather gloves, the practiced lip snarl. Oh, yeah. I had it going on. And you’ve got nothing to say about that do you, Pat Benatar? Don’t make me haul out my Polaroids.
What’s all the fuss about these things lately? My art teacher had one way back in the day and it never made the papers.
Shaving pets to help oil spill
There are an estimated 450 tasteless jokes I could spin off this, but it’s an excellent cause so I’m going to leave it alone. Please send the humanitarian award to me here at the paper.
Bring out your dead
I can’t say where and I can’t say how. But word out on the ectoplasm is that there may be another ghost running amok in Poland. I can’t say when and I can’t say who. But apparently this ghost is twice as devilish as that flirty hitchhiker who haunted Route 26 last year. Seriously, what’s up with Poland? If this keeps up, they’ll have to start voting on town issues by Ouija board rather than ballot.
Trey Hillman canned!
You have no idea what that means, but trust me. This really is the talk of the town. In Kansas City.
Should be a national holiday. Yesterday, all the ATV trails opened for the season and the world got twice as big. If you need me, I’m knee deep in mud somewhere. If you want to ride, write me at email@example.com.