Talk of the Town Ernie Anderson
His name is Ernie
Have you noticed the cool sketches that accompany Talk of the Town in recent weeks? Are you under the impression that I’VE been cranking those out myself, exhibiting still more of my artistic genius for you, my nine readers? You just keep thinking that, friend, because I’d love to take credit. The fact is, I can’t manage so much as a simple stick figure, so there’s no way I can claim these masterpieces as my own. The artist behind them is one Ernie Anderson, a co-worker who dropped, Ninja-like, from the newsroom ceiling one day to begin drawing everything he sees. One heck of a guy, Ernie, and I’m not just saying that because he makes Talk of the Town look good where it usually just kind of sits there taking up space. Thank you, Ernie. It’s a pleasure taking credit for your work.
Mayor on mayor action
The Auburn mayor had strong words for the Lewiston mayor last week in an exchange I found absolutely delightful. In my view, we don’t get NEARLY enough shouting across the Androscoggin River, and haven’t since that whole “let’s combine the Twin Cities” fiasco. Ah, those were the days. Name-calling, cheap shots, eye-gouging, car-keying, probably . . . Darn good times, those. You know, one day Lewiston is going to go ahead and declare war on its so-called sister city. Of course, Auburn will win because they have all the stores, but we’ll call ’em plenty of mean names before we go down, mark my word!
Someone published a photo in the SJ the other day of a deflated mooring ball out on the ice of some lake in Winthrop. To my sleepy, just-out-of-bed eyes, it looked like a MASSIVE soccer ball sitting out there on the tundra. I mean, like skyscraper sized. This led me to believe that an oversized extraterrestrial ball army had arrived to take over the Earth, as I’ve always suspected one would. Until I wiped gunk from my eyes and realized it was just a mean camera trick, I thought it was going to be a really, really fun day.
Brush fires of freedom
Yup. Brush fire season is definitely upon us, along with their little brothers, the mulch fire. Mulch fires aren’t as exciting as brush fires, but they’re much easier to get to. You just need to skip over to your local bank or McDonald’s drive-thru, where some fool has flicked a cigarette out his window. You know who you are, fool.
Chocolate what, now?
I regret to report that chocolate graham crackers are still missing from the stores. Some nights, I weep myself to sleep. It’s probably for the best, though. I really should avoid all that gluten.
Work that gluten, sissy!
Ha ha! I kid! I don’t even know what gluten is. I thought it was something you develop with a lot of time on the stair machine at the gym.
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