The Outsidah

I know it sounds impossible, Your Honor, but I swear it’s the truth My lawyer is also a dear friend, so when he gives me advice, I trust he’s truly trying to keep me out of jail. He and I like to meet at either his house or mine, and meeting in prison would be far less convenient. He has advised me that defamation is a crime, so I should not defame anyone. No false malicious statements. I’m limited to true malicious statements. Which severely cramps my style. Unfortunately,

“And they gave unto him gold, frankincense, and mortgage-backed securities” Dear Trevor, You’ve announced your impending departure, ending your brilliant stint as editor of the Ipswich Local News, and you must know your leave-taking is horrible for me, not to mention the rest of the paper’s contributors. And the paper’s entire print-edition readership here in on the North Shore. And the online edition’s worldwide following, which has to be tens and possibly even twenties of p

A columnist may love a clam, but where will they make a home together? I love clams, but to the clam, it doesn’t feel like love. If you really loved a clam, you would treat it well, you would check in on it from time to time, you would send it a card on its birthday. You wouldn’t steam it or fry it and eat it. That’s not love. Nor would you cook it and sell it to someone else so they could eat it. That’s not love either. That’s crass, heartless profiteering. At least from t

Crows build their nests at 60 feet and up — wonder why? I sympathize, I truly do, with lovers Of helpless, darling little birds called plovers. But frankly, I am so completely over This endless, slavish passion for the plover. To tell the truth, I’d like to call the movers And pay the guys to relocate those plovers. If only we still had late-night Colbert To take a stand against the darn plovert! Lost miles of beach! Our sacrifice is steep. These birds are cute, but the