A day in the life
Got a handwritten letter from a local woman recently that was written like a stand-up comedy skit. Pure gold. On one page, she’s ranting about hot flashes so severe she has to wear men’s boxers to stay cool. On another page, she explains why there’s a roll of toilet paper on her kitchen table. And the pages after that explore the mystery behind the strange sounds coming from her nightstand. I’d tell you more about that one, but you really should wait until the movie comes out.

Sorry, Chuck. I was wrong.
I also got a letter from someone who thoroughly chastised me for slandering the good name of one Charles Emerson Winchester III by describing the man as greedy and pompous. According to the letter writer, this MASH character was simply a product of a different culture and deserves our respect, not our scorn. I now see the error of my ways and withdraw the characterization. And I’ll give serious thought before offering up any of my thoughts on Cliff Clavin, Winnie Cooper and Jack Tripper. I can generally only handle one scolding a week.

The grand old party pooper
I also got a letter from a jail inmate who, unhappy with my response to an earlier letter, writes “I believe you’re as stupid as most Republicans.” See? That’s two scoldings, so I’m now over my limit.

Wife not interested in raising husband’s love child
I got nothing on this, really. Spotted the headline over Dear Abby and figured it’s just the kind of thing we need to jazz things up around here. I wish the two of them all the best.

Boating in the Lewiston canals!
I was treated to an old photo the other day of a bunch of speed boats tooling around down there in the canals. This was decades ago, of course, but it makes me wonder. Why can’t we bring that back? Those canals are out there doing nothing to earn their keep, other than hiding all those shopping carts, VCRs, door-less refrigerators, mate-less boots, hub caps and stolen bikes. Let the speed boats get out there, I say, and maybe invite that doofus with the giant hamster wheel thingy.

It’s a member of the lute family, you know
Earlier in the week I wrote about a young lady whose small, guitar-like instrument that generally employs four nylon strings and that was introduced to Hawaii by Portuguese immigrants from Madeira was stolen. Yeah, that’s a clumsy piece of writing right there, but I had to perform all sorts of literary gymnastics to get around the difficult spelling of that lady’s U-K-U-L-E-L-E. No matter how many times I wrote the word, I just couldn’t remember to slip that second U in there. I hope nothing happens to her harmonica, because I never know if it’s A harmonica or AN harmonica. Dude, I have a stressful job.

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