The runaway pantaloons
Now, normally if a guy loses his pants AND underwear in a bold, daylight jail break, only to become a local laughingstock, I wouldn’t pile on by making fun of him. But come on… This guy lost his pants AND his underpants while trying to hop over some barbed wire! That is bold. Am I just going to NOT mention that? It doesn’t matter what I say, anyway. As soon as the cops trotted this guy back to jail, the other inmates had already come up with a good nickname for him. Hopefully it’ll be something outlaw sounding, like “Bare-Bottom Billy” or “Pantless Pete.” If I know jail inmates, though, they’re going to want to get straight to the point, so the poor dude will forever be known as “Dumb, Naked Steve” or something like that.

You’ve GOT to close the beaches!
Saw Lewiston Mayor Carl Sheline trotting up from Canal Street the other day. There was nothing eventful about the sighting, but every time I see a mayor, I want to march up to them and say, all grim like: “You KNEW there was a shark out there. But you let people go swimming anyway? My boy is dead. I wanted you to know that.” You know, just to see how they react.

My shame is great
Sorry, Mayor Sheline. It just occurred to me that when that grieving mother was yelling about sharks and whatnot, she was yelling at the police chief, not the mayor of Amity. I’ll go track down the local police chief and hit him with these random, baseless accusations. You know, just to see how he reacts.

Actually…
No, I won’t. I think I got warrants out.

This is why I’m so skinny
I’m putting the Auburn McDonalds on notice for keeping erratic hours and for doing absolutely nothing to let us hungry folk know whether they’re open or closed. You can drive up to those golden arches at 8:30 p.m. and sit in the well-lit drive-thru yelling “Hello? Hello? Is anybody there? I want a Big Mac, please” for 15 minutes before you finally figure out that they’re closed. No sign, no dimming of the menu board, no nothing to let you know that you’re basically shouting at a machine and you ain’t getting no Big Mac. Burger King is more reliable, but I’m still creeped out by that grinning king guy, so I think I’ll just make a sandwich.

Mainers are killing the wrong moth
This was a headline in Wednesday’s paper. I can’t help but hear the line as if it’s from a Hollywood thriller. “I’m only going to tell you this once,” says an enraged Liam Neeson, veins throbbing at his temples. “You’re killing the wrong moth. They will find you and they will kill you.” Cut to a scene of a bunch of moths, dressed immaculately in expensive suits and cool hats, pulling weapons from a car trunk. You mess with the moth Mafioso, my friend, and you sleep with the fishes. Don’t say Liam didn’t warn you.

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