Pause for the cause

So, the Sun Journal has been live streaming a lot lately so you people can enjoy events from the comforts of your own Snuggies. They streamed all the press conferences related to the arson spree, they’ve streamed rallies in Kennedy Park, and on Wednesday they streamed the Lewiston Unites forum at the Longley School. Come to find out, they employ a short delay to prevent bad words and such from landing in your tender ears. They call it the LaFlamme Delay and I couldn’t be more insulted. I mean, I almost never swear unless I’m talking about baseball, and I haven’t taken my pants off in public since that unfortunate incident at the city council meeting. There WAS that other incident in the police compound, but I maintain I was provoked. Plus, that thing I did in Kennedy Park, but still! I’m usually on my best behavior.

Why, you dirty little . . .

It had been raining for six straight days before I really stopped and thought about it. Really, New England? Smack dab in the middle of May you’re going to whiz on us? Then I checked the forecast for Memorial Day weekend. I tell you, friends, it’s a good thing that LaFlamme Delay was in effect, because I haven’t stopped swearing since I saw that weather report.

Lewiston bingo

So, that Pallaso & The Mess video is pretty jamming, isn’t it? Great tune and all the footage of downtown Lewiston you can stomach in one sitting. Let’s play a game, you and I. Watch the video and when it’s done, tell me how many empty bottles of Allen’s Coffee Brandy you spot in the gutters and empty lots. Bonus points for shirtless guys, women smoking while pushing baby carriages and people wearing pajamas in Kennedy Park.

LePage moving out

I’d advise him to consider the one-room place on Nichols Street in which I lived upon first arriving in Lewiston. It’s a little cramped, but the screams of sirens and of the drunken couple down the hall will make sure he’s up on time for press conferences and such.

Seriously, isn’t it time for some TV executive to make a reality show about the governor’s time in office? Send a liberal reporter and a tree-hugging, bisexual, atheist, unemployed teenager to live with him and keep the cameras rolling.

Rock and roll heaven

Ray Manzarek, who provided the carnivalesque soundtrack for my misspent adolescence, has died. The masterful keyboardist is bound for Rock ‘n’ Roll Heaven, which to a former Doors member probably looks a lot like Venice Beach. And up there, the stadiums are always full, the grass is top notch and Jim is at least reasonably sober come showtime. Or if he’s not sober, at least he’ll keep his junk in his pants.

A three-hour tour. A three-hour tour.

So on Tuesday, they’re sending me, by canoe, to some place called Malaga Island. I’m not sure – nobody tells me anything – but I have a suspicion that it’s some kind of island.

Chances are pretty good that I’ll be eaten by a shark, struck by lightning or thrown overboard by angry canoe mates tired of my repeated yelling of trite cliches such as “thar she blows!” “land ho!” and several lines involving the “poop deck.” And if this happens – if I don’t make it back – I want you to go on with your lives. Don’t mourn for me, my friends. Scatter my shark-chewed ashes over Kennedy Park. And of course, don’t forget to go to my house and obliterate the contents of my computer hard drive.

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