I’m sorry, WHAT?

I was juuuust getting into the swing of things on Facebook when those wankers introduced yet another annoyance to my work flow. I get a lot of private messages on the ol’ FB and lately people have taken to recording their thoughts instead of writing them out like in the olden days of 2023 or so. Thanks, Zuckerberg. Now instead of quickly skimming a potentially important message, I have to crank up the volume and jam my ear against the speaker in order to hear what the breathless tipster is saying. Not that I’m hard of hearing, mind you. I never said that!

Zuckerberg!

I find that I really enjoy using that dude’s name because if you say it with just the right amount of guttural emphasis, it sounds like profanity. It’s NOT profanity, though; it’s a surname, so there’s nothing the editors can do about it. Ha! So take that, Zuckerbergs!

Skinny Man’s Misery

So, I finally got to climb Tumbledown Mountain in Weld the hard way, via the Loop Trail and Fat Man’s Misery. I didn’t find the squirm up the narrow passage between rocks as claustrophobic and harrowing as expected, but the climb itself kicked my buttocks in numerous ways. I took a spear-sharp branch to the neck early on the trail. About halfway up, I got clobbered in the skull by a fat tree limb I never saw coming. I gashed the flesh of my scalp during that unplanned head-butt, yet nobody will be able to see it unless I shave my head bald. I mean, what’s the point of a battle wound if you can’t show it off? I think it’s clear what I need to do…

Is it hot in here or just me?

When I awoke on Tuesday (and remember, I sleep just a little bit later than most of you weirdos) I thought for sure I had contracted malaria. “Zuckerberg!” I cried. “I’m burning up!” And I was, too. Slicked with sweat, skin hot to the touch. Why even the air around me seemed to sizzle with the heat of my fever. Of course, I had gone to bed with a pile of blankets and the room ice cold. How was I to know it would be 90 degrees outside by the time I got up? I mean, it’s not like they have people who monitor that kind of thing and share their results.

Don’t you hate it …

When you’re just about to go off on vacation but you have a Sunday column to finish and it’s 50 words short and you can’t come up with 50 words to fill that space to save your life? It would be swell if we could just pretend I said something really clever and insightful in this space so I can move on. Zuckerberg! There. How’s THAT grab you?

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.