Men at work

For a good chunk of the week, workers were doing something near the corner of Pine and Bates streets in Lewiston. Whatever it is, I hope they never get it fixed. With the road closed there, they neutralized the second most craptacular traffic light in the city. The first most craptacular, I think we’ve established, is the one at Russell Street and East Avenue. Something needs to break there soon. Something besides my will to live, I mean.

Fire engine catches fire

Firefighters didn’t need any stinking extinguishers or heavy hoses. They were able to beat down the flames with irony alone.

Man card

Finally. Someone recognized my high octane testosterone and sent me an official Man Card. We’re not talking some flimsy, paper card that merely average men carry. We’re talking solid wood with piercing nails and dripping glue. Ultra machismo, is this Man Card. And it replaces the Man points I lost a few weeks ago when I not only went to see a performance of Chicago, I raved about it publicly.

“The guys in the shop wanted you to have your Man Card in hand as soon as possible,” states the note that came with it.

Lock up your daughters and hide your power tools, suckers. My manliness is on full display. At least, it is until I go back to the theater to see Spamalot. I mean, come on fellas. The play just looks delightful!

Fire starter, fire starter, wet your bed

Fortunately for you, I don’t remember the rest of that childhood jingle. But a link between arson and bed wetting is well established. A recent spate of set fires has haunted Lewiston and I’ve been sent running to many of them. Oddly, you just don’t see the same excitement about bed wetting, even though the two may be related. I never get late night calls where a frantic editor demands: “Get over to Summer Street. We’ve got a report of a soiled mattress. Sounds like a bunk bed. This one could be ugly.” It’s too bad because if that were the case, I could be at your house all the time.

An earnest plea

To the person who’s setting fires along the railroad lines and trails. Please cut it out. Keep it up and they may shut down those areas to studs with dual sports motorcycles. Knock it off or I’m going to come over and wet your bed.

The Orkin man wants to kick my butt

Bedbugs? What bedbugs? It is my earnest opinion that there is no such pestilence to be found in the fine city of Lewiston, where Mr. Clean himself has a summer home. We’re spic and we’re span. We are bug free and if you hand over the documents, I will gladly sign them and make this assertion official.

I’ve covered murders and rapes, dog beatings and purse snatchings for 16 years here, but I don’t think I’ve experienced as much wrath as that which followed my utterance of the B word. Who knew your tender spot involved creatures small enough to crawl through the eye of a needle? Not me, that’s who. But I’ve learned my lesson. I will not utter the word “bedbug” if I spot one crawling up your nose.

mlaflamme@sunjournal.com