Tangled up in blue

From the State Police files. Is it me? Or does this report sound like the start of a Penthouse Forum letter.

“Trooper Jamo was following an erratic vehicle southbound on Route 4 in Turner when the operator suddenly sped up to 79 mph in the 45 mph zone near the Auburn town line. Trooper Jamo initiated a traffic stop and found two females attempting to switch drivers, but got entangled with each other in the center console area.”

Getting your news the hard way

The same State Police e-mail bulletin advised that for more local news, the visitor should “lick the link below.” I tried it and got nothing. Monitor’s really clean, though.

an fo d

Hot new market on Sabattus Street. Check it out.

I’m one of those people who gets way more excited than I ought to when some of the letters burn out of a business sign. There’s always the chance that the remaining letters will spell a dirty word and man, that’s just good times.

Snow ‘thrower?’

During the storm, I heard people talking about their “snow throwers.” What’s that all about, anyway? The term snow “blower” isn’t good enough anymore? I don’t like it. “Snow thrower” sounds like some gigantic catapult thing perched outside a castle. Or like street slang for a crack dealer. Furthermore, I’ve tried a dozen times but I can’t make “snow thrower” work as the punch line to an off-color joke. It’s just wrong and I demand that you stop using the term at once.

Plowed

Has anybody invented a term yet for the experience of finally getting your driveway clear of snow only to have a city plow roar by and fill it up again? If you’ve got one, by all means send it my way. The terms I came up with, they won’t let me put in the newspaper.

You want fries with that, sinner?

The United Baptist Church on Main Street in Lewiston is being ripped down and I’ll be sad to see it go. I used to live next door, in a third-floor walk-up above Sam’s. Most weekend mornings, I’d shuffle down to street level, head hanging, hands stuffed in my pockets, ashamed of things I’d done the night before. I’d mumble some half-baked apology in the direction of the church and feel better by the time I got to my car. It was like a drive-thru confessional.

Not an inch to spare

You know that online game where you have to drag your cursor up an increasingly narrow path until you reach the end of the maze? That’s Pine Street, Lewiston, in winter. And that includes the Exorcist-looking girl that pops up shrieking near the end. Saw her leaning against a snowbank at the corner of Howe Street. Almost wet myself.

Playboy up for grabs

I’m only interested in buying the articles.