The paper chase
So, you’re name is Greg or possibly Gary. You left a voice message for me on my office phone and asked that I call you back. So, I did what all stupid reporters do and scrawled your phone number on the back of a police report and then proceeded to throw that police report in the recycling bin. I lost your number, is what I’m trying to tell you. Because I’m stupid. IF you’d like to hit me back, I’ll welcome your call, and this time I’ll write the number down in a way that’s more in keeping with modern technology. Which is to say I’ll scribble it on the back of my hand.

Head’s up
Now, I don’t mean to frighten you scared little mice, but on Monday afternoon at about 3 p.m., I spotted a headless man, or possibly a headless woman, outside the Lewiston Public Library. I was riding up Pine Street and crossing Lisbon when I spied the atrocity. The headless man, or possibly woman, was slumped against the side of the library, just next to the doors. There he (or she) sat next to another dude; a dude who was idly playing with his phone with no concern at all about the decapitated horror seated next to him. The site of that headless being was so terrifying to me, though, that I nearly drove into the side of City Hall, which would have been embarrassing inasmuch as I owe them parking ticket money. And as it turns out, the headless guy wasn’t headless at all. He just had his head tilted freakishly to one side so he could see what his friend was doing on that phone. My relief was profound. I mean, if a headless man should appear in Lewiston, I’d be obliged to interview him or her and I have no idea how I would go about it.

Out jumped BOO!
So, I’m off on my yearly Halloween vacation, suckers. I’d tell you where I’m going, but that would ruin the surprise when I spring out of your hedges in my Hillary Clinton mask and scare the by golly out of you. Don’t you just love our annual traditions? Now go change your underpants.

The hills have eyes, kind of
So, for low-budget decoration thrills this year, I created terrifying pairs of eyes but cutting holes in paper towel tubes and stuffing them with glow sticks. Stuffed those shriek-inducing eyes beneath a neighbor’s deck so they’ll stare all menacing-like at the world. Only, because I absolutely suck at arts and crafts, they’re not so much “terrifying eyes” staring out from beneath the deck, they’re more “ragged glowing holes” that don’t really look like anything at all. Heard a shriek from a passerby the other night, but sadly, it was a shriek of laughter. It was very hurtful.


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