A song that stinks

You know your weekend is going to be awesome when the first email you reads begins: “Each day, like most people in the Lewiston-Auburn area, I wake up thinking, ‘What can I do to make Mark LaFlamme’s day better?” And then goes on to reveal a song about a skunk – a song that features such lines as “it smelled like a musk gland had broke o’er my head.”

No, I wasn’t sniffing Sharpies Saturday morning, it’s for real. The song is called “Skunk at Home” and was written by the local band Bold Riley. The lyrics also include the line: “He met me with buttocks exposed,” which is just awesome. I don’t want to reveal any more than that, though, because it would spoil the ending.

Your Speed

Well, well, well. It appears somebody stole a solar panel and batteries from a town speed trailer in Sabattus. I wonder how fast the thief was moving as he fled the scene. If police can come up with a suspect, they should wheel the trailer over to his house, park it at the end of his driveway and, instead of “your speed,” they could flash the message “You’re busted!” That’s just good ol’ law enforcement fun right there.

The windows of my soul

My friends, prepare yourselves. This news will shock you. After all my screaming and hollering and cussing about how I will never upgrade from Windows 7 to a newer, more stupider version of the operating system, I just ordered a machine that will come with Windows 10. My shame is great. You have every reason to consider me a turncloak and I wouldn’t blame you if you stopped inviting me to your unrestrained orgies of love and geekdom. I will always cherish the memories of our time together, especially the clothing-optional Windows XP devotion ceremony of 2005. Whoo! I still have scars from that night!

Peep THIS!

Saw a dude walking up Bartlett Street in Lewiston the other day, using a cordless leaf blower to move irksome leaves out if his way. He didn’t appear to be clearing a yard or anything, he just didn’t want any stupid leaves underfoot and he did everything in his power to cast them aside. That’s pretty rugged, I suppose, but a real stud would climb the trees themselves and blow the leaves into oblivion before they had a chance to fall on their own.

Too close to call

Riding up Pine Street in Lewiston on my motorcycle Wednesday, I actually got hit by a wiffle ball that came flying out of nowhere. Back in my day, if someone hit you with a wiffle ball that meant you were out. Which makes sense here because I never feel safe riding up Pine Street.


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