I stand corrected
On Tuesday, I had no need to leave the house even once, so naturally I stood at the window and scoffed at all the fuss being made about the cold weather. Pttth! I said to the window pane. Bunch of sissies. Why back in MY day . . . Then I had to go wheel the trash cans to the curb and man, oh man. Cold? It was like running naked through barbed wire. And I know what I’m talking about because I’m a guy who’s run naked through barbed wire a time or two. For various reasons. I’ve said too much.

Bare shelves like ya read about
I’d like for you all to just calm down and stop worrying yourself to death. It’s over. I’ve found some saltine crackers. I had to shell out for the brand stuff, but no matter. The crisis has passed. Go back to bed, son, you look a fright. The saltine crisis may have ended, but there are still serious shortages of chocolate graham crackers, pepperoni, microwave popcorn with extra butter and potato sticks. It’s all just hell on a guy who’s trying very hard to avoid healthy eating. Also, if you’re after taco sauce, seasoning or shells, you’re probably going to have to buy them from the back of some guy’s van.

Enter Sandman
The town of Greene is vigilantly guarding its sand supply. Don’t blame them, either. Sand this time of year is pretty precious. You have a lot of time to think about these things after the third wipeout of the day leaves you sprawled semi-conscious in your driveway. Instead of security lights and fancy cameras, I’d suggest the town of Greene invest in a good ol’ snarling junkyard dog to keep thieves away. Nobody wants to tangle with a snarling junkyard dog, it’s a very painful experience. A little bit like running naked through barbed wire, now that I think of it.

Eeee, boy!
In the very first ever story I wrote out of the town of Greene back in nineteen ninety whatever, I forgot to put the “e” on the end of the town name. There are people to this day who haven’t forgiven me for it. My shame is great.

My bad
Speaking of. I reached out to a source the other day to ask him for additional photos for a story I was writing. He wrote back at once to say he was on his honeymoon. I can’t say why, exactly, but I felt a weird sense of shame for writing a guy on his honeymoon and asking for pictures. He didn’t send any, so I guess that’s OK.

Lewd and lascivious no more
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but I sure miss hearing police radio chatter. Listening to fire and ambulance traffic is keen and all, but those guys don’t tend to use terms like “naked and belligerent,” “drunk and lewd” or “drunk, naked and tearing out fistfuls of hair.” That kind of talk is the music I like to dance to, consarn it.

Forgive me
I apologize for the ungentlemanly language just now.

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