The Dating Game

In order to prepare this publication for print, I first had to slap Sunday’s date onto the end of it. Due to some malfunction, the date keeps appearing as Sept. 1. Ha ha ha! Technology, eh? So stupid. There’s no WAY it’s September already. I mean, summer has only just begun, am I right? On behalf of the Sun Journal (they hate when I say that) I’d like to apologize for putting the incorrect date on every single page of the paper. It’s early summer, I swear it is. Carry on.

Miley Cyrus

I finally watched the performance that dropped so many drawers and caused so many gasps of disgust and outrage. Frankly, I found it more inexplicable than shocking. Miley’s a pretty girl, maybe, but I have a feeling I look better in my feetie pajamas than she looked in hers. If you’d like to see photos and decide for yourself, visit my website.

Ha ha!

Just kidding. There are no photos of me in feetie pajamas. Don’t even bother looking. Seriously, man. Stay away from my website.

Shaken, not stirred

I did learn a new word as a result of the Miley thing, though. Twerking. You know what it means, don’t pretend you don’t, you faker. Expect to see this exciting new term in every other news story I write over the next few weeks, including boring town meetings, weather stories and cats stuck in trees. Twerking. That’s just fun!

Rear-ended

You know what else is a fun word? “Buttockal.” I might try to squeeze that into a few stories, too. So, you’ve got all kinds of stuff to look forward to this week. You’re welcome.

The Beav is not a happy camper

When you see a performance like Miley’s on the Whatever Awards do you sometimes wonder what would happen if an ordinary, conservative American from the 1940s were to rise from the grave and witness this semi-naked new world? I mean, underwear commercials alone would probably send him or her back to the grave in no time.

Let me out!

Remember a couple weeks ago when I referred to the TV mini-series “Under the Dome” as baffling and insipid? I take it back. It’s worse than that. Now we have a diabolical blonde who appeared out of nowhere, an organized fight club and stressed out Mainers voluntarily giving up their guns. Uh huh. That seems realistic. Big Jim Reny has killed again, Junior is all dreamy and good again, and now there’s a mini-dome with a moth problem. It’s just terrible. I’m only watching for the hot commercials.

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