Front and centre: Just in time for Halloween, the Sun is scaring our sock off with tales of municipal bureaucracy gone absolutely berserk. It seems that damage claims made to the city are being ignored and no one is getting compensated when potholes destroy their cars. It's basically a Stephen King novel come to life.But it doesn't end at potholes. The woman pictured has a flooded basement thanks to faulty city pipes. No wonder she looks so fed up! No wonder she's gazing wistfully at Christ in Heaven. Maybe Christ will help her mop up her swampy basement, like some sort of supernatural janitor?
It's basically a Stephen King novel come to life.
Top: The spookiness continues. Michael Buble is "coming clean" with the publication of Onstage Offstage, a memoir that tells the inspiring story of how he found a way—against all odds—to entertain middle-aged women by singing like Frank Sinatra. It's sort of like 8 Mile, except with less rap battles and guns and more crooning of sweet nothings. The Sun' s interview with Buble touches on his apparently notorious temper (he's a puncher and a swearer). Buble explains his hotheadedness by quoting his grandfather's advice: "If there's sunshine I don't mind kissing someone's ass. But if they poop on my face, they're dead." Chilling. Also: lottery.
Bottom: Michael Buble's talk of "kissing asses" and "pooping on faces" has ruined my appetite for these beautiful muffins. Fuck you, Michael Buble. Thanks to your depraved scatological musings I'm going to be hungry all day.
Summary: I'm dressing up as a man with a wet basement for Halloween.
*** (out of 5)
glad you're back!
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