Doooooooughnuts

On an early evening in Kennedy Park last week, while a handful of police had gathered to keep the peace, a woman came walking through with a big box of Dunkin’ Donuts in her hand. A weird moment ensued as the officers tried to deduce whether she had brought the doughnuts for them and the lady tried to decide whether she should offer the cops some even though she had bought them all for herself. I mean, what’s park etiquette in that situation? Fortunately, the tense standoff was eased when a screaming slap fight broke out deeper in the park and everybody scrambled.

Baby you’re a firework

I was walking up Pine Street the other day and lamenting how quiet it was in downtown Lewiston when some wannabe warlord set off what had to be a ton-and-a-half of fireworks maybe 10 feet away from where I was strutting. The blast was so sudden and so intense, I shrieked a little and immediately dove for cover, which totally explains how I landed on that Pine Street hooker.

The fox did what now?

An astute reader of obvious good taste wrote Friday to commend me on my use of the word “muckled” in a story about a fox that attacked an 82-year-old man in Lisbon. Unfortunately, spell-check is not such a big fan of “muckled.” In fact, it wanted to change the word to “suckled,” which would have completely changed the flavor of that particular story.

Geiger secrets revealed!

So, as I was rolling back into town after a trip the other night, that wife demanded that I take a drive down the dead-end Mount Hope Avenue, near the cemetery, so she could “show me something.” I thought for sure I was getting whacked, but no. She wanted to show me the towering wall of hi-tech lights on the far side of Geiger. It was mesmerizing. And after all these years of wondering, I think it’s become pretty clear how Geiger predicts the weather year after year in their little almanac – they’re using those lights to communicate with extraterrestrial weather forecasters. Weirdly, when I got home that night, I transformed a plate of mashed potatoes into some strange tower shape. It’s bigger than all of us.

Mistaken identity

While I was loitering in Kennedy Park last week, two people mistook me for an undercover police officer. One guy became convinced of this when he saw me sucking on my vape device and thought I was speaking into a wrist-mounted microphone. Then at Walmart, a nice young lady stopped me to ask which branch of the military I’m in. Stupid flattop. Now I’ve got to grow a mullet just so people will see me as who I truly am.

I confess

I was planning on growing a mullet, anyway. I mean, that’s just a rockin’ look, yo!