Murder hornets!
All right, dawgs. That’s it. I’m out. If you need me, I’ll be reporting from our bureau in northern Canada, close to the Arctic, where it’s too cold for any insect, let alone a gigantic, belligerent hornet with a three-inch stinger. I mean, seriously, 2020? It’s like somebody tapped into my own personal nightmares and unleashed them upon the world. Sorry about that, bros. You’re welcome to join me in Nanavut if you’d like. I’ll need someone to help me carry the flame throwers, and to check my back every two minutes.

Seniors to graduate at Bridgton Drive-in
Can you PLEASE keep it down out there? Some of us are trying to watch “The Lion King.”

Tickle fight!
I swear I saw one the other day, the very first I’ve ever witnessed in the wild. Out there on Walnut Street they were, two young ladies poking each other in the ribs and teee-heeeing madly as they tried to scramble away from one another. I wanted to pull to the side of the road and watch them for a while, but would that be weird? Seems like the kind of thing you’d need a subscription and age verification for.

Left-hand red
I’ve been thinking about the arrows they’ve been slapping down on the grocery store floors recently to keep customers moving in (I guess) an orderly fashion. Seems to me like they ought to put down big colored dots in places, too, and provide an arrow spinner to everyone who walks through the door. A big, out-of-control game of Twister among strangers in the produce aisle is exactly what this world needs right now. Masks on, of course.

But seriously
Can you check my back? There’s a hornet on me, isn’t there! Just tell me! Oh, God, I always knew this day would come!

Size matters
See, that’s the thing about murder hornets, and insects in general. These suckers might be yuuuge as bugs go, but they’re still small enough that you can’t know for sure if one is creeping down your shirt or (I just sobbed a little) up your pant leg. The horror of hornets, wasps and spiders is that you always have to wonder IF one is on you and if so, exactly where? If murder hornets were big enough to punch, they wouldn’t be so horrifying.

Learn to drive, you #@!$%!
If no tourists come to Maine this summer, who are we supposed to yell at on the roads? I mean, yelling at outta-staters is as much a summertime ritual as eating lobster, eating pier fries or naked tree-climbing (some people are into that kind of thing). I just don’t think that shouting “Go back to Thorndike, loser!” out your car window will be as satisfying as addressing someone from Massachusetts or New Yawwwwk.


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