Zodiac

My world is in shambles. Instead of meeting a tall dark stranger, my horoscope calls for a short pale one. Damn you, shifting galactic center!

I know people who are earnestly distressed over the news that our Earth’s wobble has caused the Zodiac to shift. They ain’t got no job, the opposite sex unanimously finds them repulsive and they’ve been living in mom’s basement with a gassy border collie named Bubba. But, oh no! The messed up horrorscope might mess things up! I’m a Pisces. We don’t sweat the small stuff. We just get drunk, paint and hack off our body parts.

Ricky Gervais

Sure, he was pretty hard on an aging Hugh Hefner. And yeah, he took a swipe at Robert Downey Jr., trashed “The Tourist” right in front of its stars, maligned Cher and poked fun at the entire cast of “Sex in the City.” That’s a celebrity award show for you. But Gervais really crossed the line when he said mean things about Charlie Sheen, a man who has for so long served as the brightest example of hedonism and jubilation, an inspiration and beacon of hope to those of us who languish in boredom, restrained by the bonds of civility and inhibition. Mr. Sheen is a man who should be celebrated and cherished, not derided by some mush-mouthed hack from abroad.

Pardon the passion. I just really hope to score a guest spot on “Two and a Half Men” someday, if only to spend a few hours in the Harper household.

Squeeze

Last week, we discussed how driving up Pine Street, Lewiston, in winter is like negotiating a maze. But we should have been discussing the lower end of Ash Street. With cars parked on both sides of the street in front of The Cage, you will feel like a kidney stone trying to squeeze its way down a urethra, with the added fun of people walking in the street and random bodies darting out between cars.

That’s a lot going on in your urethra, now that I think of it. You should probably have that checked.

Baby, come back

The Maineiacs are leaving Lewiston! Wait, now they’re staying. Will they? Won’t they? If the Maineiacs were a walking, talking being, they would be rumored to be having a torrid affair with Jane Lynch. And I’d approve of that. She seems nice.

Slaughterhouse likely for Auburn

Great. You just know pet owners will use the presence of this murder factory to threaten their dogs and cats. Keep pooping on the rug, Skippy, and we’ll take you for a ride to Auburn. Claw the sofa again, Mittens, and it’s into the grinder with you.

You know, this kind of animal torture chamber wouldn’t provoke such horror if they’d just call it something else. Blissful Bovine Passage Station, for instance, or E-Z Euthanasia. Make the business logo a tired, gray-haired cow carrying a briefcase off into the sunset, or perhaps a sheep relaxing on a cloud. The mournful sounds of animal screams may be a little tougher to spin, as will the clouds of flies, but you’ll think of something.