Comfy cozy

OK, enough! You broke me! The rumors you heard were true, I DID show up at a crime scene last week wearing a pair of household slippers. I ran up and down Pine Street in Lewiston in a pair of fuzzy, frilly slippers donned to keep my toe-toes warm in the chilly April night. The whole sordid scene reminds me of the time back in 1990-something when I arrived at a Bates College riot wearing what others deemed pajamas but which I still maintain were sweatpants. Just because they had sewed-in feet, does that make them pajamas? Don’t answer that. I really need to stop hanging out at the Playboy Mansion after work.

Clowns wear Crocs

And speaking of my awesome footwear – you want me, admit it – I was thrilled to note at least two of the clowns at the Shrine Circus were wearing Crocs while tooling around in the clown locker room before the show. Mean people have been making fun of me for years because of my fondness for Crocs, but I’d say this puts an end to that tiresome debate. Anything worn by a clown in a locker room is automatically declared as cool as Fonzie’s breath. Which, according to my recent experience, would mean that cod pieces are also cool. Get one for yourself today!

Cold cream

A word about the white facial cream worn by clowns: It’s delightful! It goes on smooth and doesn’t feel greasy or cloying like the stuff you buy at the drugstore for Halloween, Mardi Gras or those special nights you spend alone when your wife is out of town.

I fear I’ve said too much.

Eyes on the road

One recent afternoon at a local supermarket, I had the gut-busting joy of watching an older gentleman steer a shopping cart directly into a cheese display case, causing a few wheels of Gouda to jump over the sides in protest. Oh, I know what you were distracted by, old fella. Please don’t gawk and drive. The funniest part about the wreck was the gentleman’s reaction: His head turned this way and then that way, his eyes everywhere at once, trying to determine who had witnessed the embarrassing collision and how those people might be eliminated.

Red faced

How about that Cincinnati Reds manager firing off a few dirty words (OK, 77 dirty words) at a reporter who probably came just to get the usual cliches baseball managers are known to spout? “They’re giving 110 percent out there.” “It’s a game of inches.” “These guys play to win.” “There’s a lot of baseball left.” “Sometimes you just have to tip your cap to the other team” and blah blah blah. Instead he goes on this monstrous, profanity-laced tirade because – boo hoo – the reporter isn’t putting forth the effort to make the manager’s life easier. There’s no crying in baseball, fool. I haven’t heard someone indulge in that much swearing since my mother set the record in 1993 (the newspaper pulled “Arlo and Janis” out of the comic page lineup).

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