Bieber’s private parts won’t be exposed in police video

The depth of my disappointment just cannot be described. That aside, do we live in weird times, or what? A pop star is arrested for drunken driving and the whole world waits breathless to hear whether his Willy will be revealed in a jailhouse video. Meanwhile, it’s been more than 40 years since Jim Morrison went nuts in Miami and the debate still rages over whether he showed his goods or not. It just goes to show . . . I don’t know. Something.

The ultimate ab workout

As tensions continue to mount in the Ukraine and political upheaval threatens to turn global, I think we should all send out a plea to Russian President Vladimir Putin to stop taking his shirt off every time there’s a camera in front of him. Seriously, Poo. Save that routine for Facebook.

Oopsie

Early in the week, some schmo on Facebook advised that temperatures over the coming weekend were expected to be in the 60s. The 60s! I trumpeted this news to everyone who would listen. I took out ads in all the major newspapers. I planned orgies and square dances and fireworks to celebrate this momentous climatic development and I learned how to perform cartwheels just so I could turn one. You know what? It IS going to be in the 60s. Only, the person who announced this happens to live in Virginia. So now I just look like an ass, and you know how I hate that.

What did you get for question 3?

At a town hall meeting in Auburn on Thursday, I sat at the back of the room taking notes on the proceedings. As I did so, I noticed that the big bearded guy next to me was also taking notes, only he had his free hand curled around his pencil as a shield against his work. You know the look. You remember it from grade school when that Poindexter next to you would hide his answers so that you could not steal them. That little puke is why you were required to repeat the fifth grade, now that you think of it. At Auburn Hall, I didn’t NEED to see the big man’s scrawlings, but the more he hid them from me, the more I wanted to. By the end of it, I was leaned way over in my chair and my neck had telescoped, ET-like, out of my shirt as I tried to get a glimpse of his secret scribbles. Finally, the city administrator yelled at me and I had to go see him after class. Sucked.

Upskirt photography banned in Mass.

I regret to inform you that our yearly trip to Filene’s is off. What would be the point?

Spring forward

Don’t forget, fool.


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