I know where I’m sleeping tonight

Another anonymous gift left for me at the front desk and it’s a beaut: A postmortem bag, white, with curved zipper. Spanking new in the package, it comes with one chin strap, one under pad, two 60-inch ties, three 36-inch ties, three identification tags. Also, helpful hints: “The polyethylene bag containing each postmortem bag is adaptable for holding the personal belongings of the deceased. Postmortem bags are designed to contain bodily fluids. Body weight should be supported when lifting and transporting.”

Which goes without saying.

This is great. At last I can get away from those troublesome trash bags that rip and spill all the time. Hefty? Rubbish! The only problem I have is, how do you thank someone for such a perfect gift? Probably the same way I thanked those who delivered the Haitian machete, the rubber rat, the customized cop beat soundtrack, the two-foot-tall Puppet Master figurine, the horrifying jack-in-the-box, the leprechaun bottle of whiskey, the boar skull, the “Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me” T-shirt and the two (and counting) pair of thongs.

Pot dispensary to open

A business that vends a mind-altering substance? It’s bound to be trouble. And my friends at the bar agree with me. Even the ones who are presently under the table in puddles of their own pee.

So long, suckers

I just got the call. I’m off to Hollyweird to bail out the cast of “Two and a Half Men.” I’ll be playing Marcus, a mysterious Harper relative who has fled to Malibu to escape the mob after some scuzzy dealings back in New York City. Once I get settled into Charlie’s old house, you’ll see the same old abundance of hard-drinking, womanizing and general joie de vivre. The only difference: Jon Cryer will be the cool one.

It’s bigger than all of us

Has anybody noticed a similarity between Charlie Sheen’s mercurial UStream rants and governor Paul LePage’s press conferences? Mad rants in which he manages to alienate everybody. Duh! Winning! Let’s face it: You never see the two of them in the same place at the same time. If you’ve watched Charlie’s late-night tirades – and really, how could you not? – you might have noticed that he and LePage are starting to look an awful lot a like, as well.

Got a black magic woman

More props to the “crazy French lady” who brought me a quilt from Haiti, custom stitched by a voodoo priest. Ever since I hung the thing on my desk, dead people have been crawling out of the woodwork and offering to do odd jobs. That’s kind of a nuisance, but gosh. The quilt sure is pretty.

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