Total recall

Kraft recalled umpteen million boxes of macaroni and cheese, apparently due to metal bits in the goods. I should have known something was up when every magnet in my house when whizzing across the kitchen to stick to the boxes. Can you imagine a world without macaroni and cheese? In the 1990s, this would have caused me to starve and die.

The King and I

So, Stephen King and Gov. Paul LePage have had words about the matter of King’s residency. I don’t know much about the dispute in question, but if I were the governor, I’d start worrying about getting sucked into the sewer by a maniacal clown; chased down by a 1958 Plymouth Fury; eaten by a St. Bernard; hurled across the room by a grouchy teenage girl; tied to a bed by a very big fan; attacked by a cat that stinks of the grave; or subjected to a radical weight loss plan. King, on the other hand, need only worry about . . . I dunno, something involving boot straps.

Beet it

Mary Jones of Buckfield called to raise questions about reports of 20 kids getting sick from eating pickled beets. “How the heck did they get 20 kids to eat pickled beets?” she demands to know. “Most kids I know won’t go anywhere near a pickled beat.” A lot of adults feel the same way, Mrs. Jones. Somebody comes near me with a pickled beet, I’m gonna sic Mr. King’s dawg on him.

I scream

So, a veteran Lewiston police officer called me early Sunday night to advise me that there had been a shoot-out at a popular Lewiston ice cream joint. This struck me as bizarre since I had departed that particular shop just minutes – maybe even seconds – before. So I did what any clearheaded reporter would do: I painted camo on my face, pulled on an all-black ninja outfit designed specifically for stealth reporting, and then elbow-crawled my way back to the ice cream shop with the smooth agility of an only slightly intoxicated auk. Turns out the officer was just yanking my chain. He had seen me pulling away from the ice cream place and wanted to see if, after 20 years on the beat, I was still gullible and prone to gross overreaction. And this is why I never got to finish my Stork Berry Fudge Tornado.

If you REALLY love your phone

You’d write and tell me how long you’ve had a cellphone and how it’s changed your life. The cellphone is celebrating its 42nd birthday, you know. We’re going to have cake and presents and funny pointed hats.

Note

There will be no cake or presents or funny pointed hats.

X-files

is coming back. Which is rather dubious to me because it is my ardent belief that the real world has become way, way stranger than anything Mulder and Scully can dream up.

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