An as-yet unidentified resident of Braintree, Mass. was summoned to court after being pulled over last weekend in a police-style cruiser. A highly intelligent police officer correctly surmised that there are no police in the state who call themselves "Decepticons" and drive $100,000 Italian-crafted cruisers.
It is completely unthinkable that the gentleman above, a kindly Massachusetts fellow wearing a TEABAG THE RAGS shirt with the New York Rangers logo shaped like a pair of testicles, would ever remove his genitals from his pants and show them to strangers. Especially not mere hours after last Sunday's Bruins-Rangers playoff game.
Joe Sly is such a hardcore Boston punk. He's so punk, his email address is Bostonbeatgang@gmail.com. He's so punk that he proactively emails noise bands to see when and where they're coming to Boston to play some of those "DIY concerts." He's so punk his Google+ motto—this oxymoron just gets better—is "What's the point," his disaffection so deeply punk the statement doesn't even merit a question mark on his profile.
Former Representative Barney Frank is not known for saying polite things to make people feel better. He will not "pretend everything in wonderful" when it is not. He will cause a scene when Fire Island ferry employees refuse his senior discount. He will not indulge an inquiry into his emotional state after getting passed over for John Kerry's open Senate seat, instead retorting, "If I wanted to talk about feelings, I would have called Oprah."
"Boston," a cramped Hollywood crime movie set populated primarily by the lesser Wahlbergs, is engaged in a gleeful back-and-forth exchange of japes with a national media outlet, calling to mind the beaming smile of a developmentally disabled child who has just been allowed to win a game of tag with a grown man.
The city of Boston is like that childhood best friend you introduce to adult friends with repeated reassurances like, "Sometimes he flips over cars when he's drunk, but he's really great" and "Yes, he wears khakis, but he's incredibly liberal thinker" and "No, really, he talks funny, but just give him a chance." And then, you bring him to a cocktail party, he jumps onto a table to scream "Go Sawks!" and pukes in the punch bowl.
Joyce Linehan is the former manager of the Lemonheads, Sub Pop's Boston rep, and the manager of songwriter Joe Pernice. Courtney Love wrote "Doll Parts" staying at Linehan's place. But she's also the Massachusetts-based activist whose supportive urging helped convince Elizabeth Warren to run against Republican goof Scott Brown and his pickup-truck sidekick, a campaign for Senate the Harvard professor ultimately won, as you know. So you might say that Joyce Linehan gets shit done.
Massachusetts, you sure have been wacky this week. You're a major accomplice in this week's "Binders full of women" deluge (which Romney lied about too). You had brother-and-sister thieves pretending to be screwing in a bathroom to avoid jail time. Plus those roving coyotes, dumped lottery winners, cartoony bus-driver assaults, and your awful accents are ruining the flow of American Horror Story. And now you don't like a little private tickling?
