Lewiston relining 7 miles of sewer lines
Welp, I hope these sewer workers have their affairs in order because we all know how this kind of thing goes in the movies. Once they’re down in those dank, pitch-black Hell portals they’re going to encounter a nest of man-eating spiders the size of pianos, a shuffling army of eyeless cannibal zombies, a child-eating clown with pretty balloons or an ancient race of Lovecraftian octopi preparing to rise up and enslave the human race. I suppose it’s possible they’ll just find about 300 discarded guns, burner phones and hastily discarded bags of dope, but where’s the fun in that? Also, if you find that notebook I lost coming back from the city council meeting in 2002, I’d like to have it back. I drew some lewd sketches in there I wouldn’t like to see leaked to the public.

At all costs, we must protect Dee Wallace
All weekend long, I watched the drama involving military jets shooting down unidentified flying objects over North America. Just hearing the term “unidentified flying objects” in live reports gave me mad tingles in all the right places. The gubmint won’t tell us what’s invading our skies but I think it’s safe to say that somewhere, in a quiet little town in the middle of the Yukon, a young freckle-faced boy is secretly feeding Reese’s Pieces to a squat, hard-drinking creature from a far-off planet. Fortunately for the boy, his mother is so preoccupied with her foundering romantic life, she won’t even notice the little hobgoblin living in her son’s closet.

I ain’t right
Seriously. Did I write all that just to make one lame E.T. reference?

Super Bowl hijinks
Did anybody else expect to see NORAD, out of an abundance of caution, shoot the football right out of the air during a long punt attempt? After which, they would have sent out a hasty Tweet advising that no debris was found and that it was probably nothing so don’t worry about getting probed and all that.

You’re calling THAT?
Hell, even if the football HAD been intercepted by military jet fighters, it would have been less ludicrous than that holding call against the Eagles in the final seconds. Frankly, I’m thinking that ref himself might be of extraterrestrial origin.

Valentine’s Day
That’s coming right up, isn’t it? Boy, I gotta come up with some kind of romantic plan before the big day.

Ode to a drooping flower
Speaking of Valentine’s Day, I got a really interesting email from a guy the other day who wrote with great passion about the last wilted rose to be sold at Cumberland Farms on the holiday. “To think of all the places it could have ended up,” he wrote. “In a wedding bouquet. As part of a winner’s display at the Kentucky Derby or at some official’s funeral. But alas, no. It sits alone in an old bucket next to the Red Bulls and scratch ticket display.” That’s a beautiful piece of writing, sir, and I’m sure you weren’t into the Mad Dog 20/20 at ALL when you wrote it.

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