Talk of the Town Ernie Anderson

My last word on trucks
Last week, we discussed how a man’s pickup truck will punish him for anything that can be tallied as weenie behavior. Within hours of that item being published, the muffler fell off my 2004 Nissan Titan out in the badlands of Buckfield. It didn’t simply detach itself and go bouncing off into the snowy night, neither. It fell, clanged angrily a few times against the underside and then dragged itself along the pavement with sparks and great drama for a mile or two. I tell you, the Titan was really enraged about that bit I wrote last week. It would appear that the first rule of truck love is that we don’t talk about truck love. Like, ever.

Anybody got a staple gun I can borrow?
Don’t you worry about me, though, friend. Soon as I figured out what troubled my Titan, I went out and bought a new exhaust system for it. Going to install that sucker this weekend. At least I think I’m going to. I haven’t watched any YouTube vids on the subject yet, but I assume the exhaust is held up by Velcro? Zip ties? If push comes to shove, I’ll just dig out the hot melt glue gun. Don’t you fret, I know what I’m doing. Would be glad to work on your car next.

I ain’t going in there
For reasons that are unknown to me, I’ve been watching one YouTube video after another about people who get stuck in caves. And these people don’t just get stuck, they get stuck in horrifying positions in sections of cave tunnels so forbidding, I wouldn’t even dare shine a flashlight into them. So now every time something horrible happens to me, my current wife reminds me that it could be worse. Have to go out and shovel in icy, blowing winds? Could be worse. You could be stuck upside down in a cave. Muffler fall off your truck? It could be worse. You could be bent backwards and jammed in a cave tunnel 300 feet below ground. I tell you, this concept has really dampened my ability to grouse about things.

Don’t forget
That next week is Valentine’s Day. You can probably put off shopping for your current loved ones a few more days. Certainly nothing you need to worry about today. Just go ahead and loaf on the couch drinking beer and watching MASH reruns all afternoon. Nobody will have a problem with that. This is YOUR day.

Call me ‘Spits’
Writing about William “Skeets” Miller last week only got me lamenting one more time that after 30-plus years on the job, I STILL don’t have a decent beat nickname. Sure, plenty of people call me “Mike,” but that’s only because I’m so forgettable, they don’t recall my real name.

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