Me and my recliner are pals

We go waaay back together. (Stole that from a guy on Facebook. Regret nothing.)


Are you like me? Do you keep running into construction zones every time you try to zip across town? There are so many flag guys out there with so many instructions, it’s like an on-the-road game of Simon Says. Go. Stop. OK, go again, but slowly and on the wrong side of the road. You’ve got to weave your way through those crazy cone mazes, and when you come out the other side, does the flagger give you so much as a nod for a job well done? Nossir, he does not. I feel like they should give each driver a grade before sending them on their way. It’d just be good for morale.

Fireball nips

I had those once. A month of penicillin cleared it right up.


Fireball nips II

OK, I see the error in my thinking. Fireball nips are actually tiny bottles of liquor. Popular liquor, according to the litter you see at curbside. Boy, it’s sad how much downsizing you see these days. Used to be that the curbs, back alleys and deep woods of Lewiston would be strewn with massive empty jugs of Allen’s Coffee Brandy, not these wee Smurf-sized bottles. This damn economy.

Rainmaker on Opposite Day

Every time I grouse about long stretches of foul weather in these columns, the piece invariably runs on a day that is sunny and warm. With that in mind, I’m going to go ahead and complain just to make the good weather happen. Stupid rain. Stupid clouds. I hate you. Hate you! And here I will storm off to my room, slamming the door behind me, to ensure at least a week of grand weather. Enjoy it, knaves.

Comey fired

Has there ever been a public figure so alternately loved and hated? First the right loved him but the left despised the man. Then the situation changed and the left loved him while the right thought he was dirt. By the time Comey was handed his walking papers, I don’t think either side knew whether they were supposed to applaud or weep. Fortunately, there are now an estimated 7 million Facebook memes to help you sort out your feelings on the matter.


Baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low

I don’t even like country music, but when that Josh Turner guy was in Lewiston last weekend, I heard this song so many times that I didn’t stop singing it until Wednesday. It’s not an easy tune to sing, either – you practically have to swim to the bottom of a bog to get your voice down that low. It hurts a little, which is how you know you’re doing it right.

Come to think of it

Why do they have to lock the door? Do they live in a bad neighborhood? And why are they turning the lights down low? Are they ugly? See, this is why I don’t like country music.

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