This, that and the utter thing

So last week I complained, in a delirious ramble, that I never got a meaningful tattoo, such as one featuring a cow with a palm tree growing where it’s utter should be. Ask and ye shall receive, my bros. Some enterprising tattooist, who’s clearly been huffing his ink, sent along an image of this very thing for me to use as a template for my very first tat. Now the only question is, where to put it? I’ve got some ideas, but they all involve body parts my editors won’t let me talk about.

I am SO busted
Yes, yes, Mr. Sabattus Street house decorator in Lewiston. Your post-Christmas array of holiday lights are very pretty, almost as pretty as your pre-Arbor Day display we all enjoy so much. The problem is, the current decor is dominated by blue lights, so EVERY SINGLE TIME I come over the hill coming back from the Hannaford, my first thought is that I’m driving into some kind of police action and my first thought is: “Oh, noes! They got me THIS time for sure!” Eventually it occurs to me that I’m: A. not doing anything illegal (as far as you know) and: B. I’m actually a police beat reporter who’s supposed to delight at police gatherings. But still, those first few seconds shave a few seconds off my life, I’m sure. How about a little bit of pink in your display? Nothing very heart stopping about pink.

You’re my hero
So, a fellow wrote me last week to explain that he is the dude that viciously hounded city officials until they repaired that wretched light at Bates and Pine streets in Lewiston, which always stayed red for about three days no matter which way you were traveling. It’s much better now, so I feel like this guy should be up for some kind of award. I don’t know what we’ll call this award, but it’s a good bet there will be cows and palm trees on the plaque. Enjoy, my bro. You earned it.

I ain’t going to the crossroad
Driving up Webster Street in Lewiston the other day, I spied a man with actual horns growing out of the top of his head. That’s cool. Live and let live, I say. The funny thing was, the guy promised to make me a world famous rock ‘n’ roll star if I’d just write my name in his little book. I didn’t do it, of course. Too much travel in that line of work.

Don’t touch me!
I’ve honestly been kind of freaked out since writing a story about germs for last week’s Sunday paper. I honestly had no idea there was so much fecal matter afloat in the world. Of course, it IS a big election year, so I guess we might as well get used to it.

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