Early last weekend Lebanon was a sight to behold. Cars backed up all the way down Highway 20 to Cascadia, and then down Airport Rd and onto 34 all the way to Seven Mile Lane. Grocery stores appeared as human zoos – the zookeepers having abandoned their posts long ago. Police cars were overturned in the street, burned and the smell of rubber sent wafting towards the heavens.
Cans of Vienna sausages and Chef Boyardee Spaghetti-O’s and Meatballs went flying off the shelves. Water bottles practically disappeared into thin air (aside from Perrier, because that’s weird French stuff) as Lebanites clamored over each other, tooth, nail, and whisker, in hopes of having some semblance of a future after Hurricane Irma was to make landfall.
I suppose nobody told them this was happening in Florida. Also birds were falling out of the sky a few sentences back. I’m just too lazy to add it that way.
On September 10, the Albany Democrat Herald released their newest horoscope, and used the phrase “zip-a-dee-do-dah” in the entry for Aries. And frankly, I don’t know quite what to say about that, besides the fact that I chose not to read the rest. That must be how people feel when they read this column and don’t have a sense of humor.
BREAKING NEWS: The Ducks beat Nebraska, and we don’t care. Because OSU and Benny and all that stuff. Also, I always forget Nebraska exists.
Other breaking news… the first fatty-slice of the “Corvallis to the Sea Trail” is open, and… that name. Just, no. First of all, we know it’s a damn trail. Does that need to be in there? Oh yeah, it does, because the rest of it doesn’t actually sound like a name. I’m disappointed in all of you. Granted, I would’ve probably named it The Westward Poop Chute, so maybe not listen to me. Ever.
By Johnny Beaver