Campaign season hell

As a sort of reporter, I get put on to all kinds of lists so I get mail from every political candidate from one end of the state to the other. It’s a real joy, especially during campaign season. You think campaign signs are a blight? You ought to see my email box. It’s littered with a whole lot of messages from candidates who aren’t doing anything in particular. They just want you to remember their names. Angus King just had a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato. Susan Collins enjoys birds. Rufus Bumsteer is thinking about growing a beard. If I was a political reporter and actually had to read these things, I’d probably quit and look for work shoveling poo somewhere. I don’t care what kind of poo we’re talking about, it would smell better than politics.

But also

You should totally go out and vote for Rufus Bumsteer. He’s good people.

Squirrels gone wild

The squirrels have been acting so loopy lately I’m starting to suspect the entire population of them has been noshing on hallucinogenic nuts from the crazy tree. I had one run out in front of my motorcycle the other day and instead of doing that manic back-and-forth dance they do, he just stopped there in the center of the road and lift his tail in my direction. He was like a squirrel pretending to be a skunk. Either that or the little dickens was mooning me. It’s like spring break for squirrels all up in here.

Pot smoking lobster

A restaurant owner in Southwest Harbor (which you KNOW is nice because I’ve never been there) plans to get her lobsters high before condemning them to the pot. It’s a humane thought and I commend her for this. In fact, she’s so sensitive the concept of suffering, she set free the lobster she’d used as a test subject. Which is nice, but imagine what it was like for ol’ Roscoe returning to the ocean all baked and whatnot. Hungry as hell as there just ain’t enough plankton to snack on. Feels like every other lobster in the sea is looking at him and, duuuuude! Have you noticed how many colors there are in this part of the Atlantic? Not to mention the fact that it’s got to be near impossible hanging on to a joint with those rubber bands wrapped around the mitts. Boy, we’ve all been there, haven’t we?

Aggressive Canadian crab threatens ecosystem

Well, you can hardly blame him. His cousin Roscoe is having all the fun.

Coming soon through your backyard and/or garden

I was lamenting to my colleague Chris Williams the other day about how I’ve never had a dream car. I don’t dig sports cars all that much, so if I was to get down to wishing for a new ride, I guess I’d prefer a big ol’ pickup truck, preferably one old enough that it still has crank windows and isn’t run by a computer. Then Chris turned me onto the 1966 Landrover, a tank of a vehicle that can be repaired from one end to another with just a screwdriver and crescent wrench. Now the hunt is on, and how cool am I going to look, brothers, cruising downtown Lewiston in a vehicle that was designed mainly for African safaris? Pretty dern cool, that’s what.

Laflamme


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