Regular air is just so 2005

So, to combat the horrors of cold weather leakage, I had my truck tires filled with nitrogen this week. Nitrogen! I had no idea that nitrogen inflation was even a thing until a certain wife mentioned it to me as I topped off my tires with boring old air for the 10th time this fall. Call me crazy, but I just feel manlier driving around on nitrogen all day. I mean, it’s just so bold and dangerous-sounding, like something Wile E. Coyote would buy in bulk at the Acme store. I asked the people at the tire place if I could have some to take home for personal use but they wouldn’t do it. For automotive purposes only, not for internal use, blah blah blah. Prudes.

Treat me right

I also had the oil changed in the truck for only the second time since I got it in 2010. I tell you, some vehicles just thrive on abuse. I’m pretty sure that if I were to do something crazy like wash that truck, it would dissolve into dust immediately, like a vampire exposed to sunlight.

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Also, the truck is equipped with just a regular radio, so every time I have to make a quick, 10-minute drive across town, I can rest assured that every single station I have programmed into the thing will be running 10 minutes worth of commercials. Seriously, EVERY TIME. Was commercial radio always like this? And if so, how did we ever learn the lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believing” back in the day?

Ranger reports

That’s all I have for truck updates at this time. You want to know more, sign up for my newsletter.

Well, at least it isn’t snow

Seriously, that should be Maine’s motto in the late fall months.

‘Wardens blame hunters for getting stuck in bog’

Bet those hunters, already cold and wet and muddy, got stern lectures about it, too. Now they can go home and ponder what they’ve done. And don’t even think about walking across my clean floors with those muddy feet, little mister.

Pajama party

A new record was set in Lewiston Tuesday night as a late-fall wind storm whipped across the area. The record: most pajama-clad people running down streets swearing and chasing after trash can lids all at the same time. I honestly haven’t seen that many angry people in pajamas since the last time I went to Walmart.

‘He took the midnight train going an-NEE-where . . .’

I’m just hell bent on getting that song stuck in your head here today.

‘I enjoy hentai and dead things . . .’

The reporters here at the Sun Journal have been asked to write personal profiles to be posted on our website. I hate stuff like this. I always feel like I’m a new kid in school trying desperately to convince a room full of scowling classmates that I ain’t so bad. Can’t we be friends? It’s darn tempting to begin my profile with something like “One time, when I was out of underpants . . .” so that the editors no longer want my personal information on their website.


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