On the drive home we stopped in the city of Belfast for some ice cream, whereupon I took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures of two signs that have been making me giggle for quite a while now.
First up we have a sin against punctuation:
Yum! I think I'll stop for some thice cream! What is this place, a snack bar for lisping orphans?
Secondly, across Route 1 sits this joint:
The word "steakhouse" is a new addition. When this place opened last year I was convinced (quite reasonably) that it was a strip club. Who wouldn't be? If your establishment is down a driveway and the parking lot always has a few cars in it mid-afternoon, wouldn't the next logical step upon seeing a fox silhouetted against the moon and the word "Foxy's" picked out in boudoir-pink cursive be to think, "Ayup, that's a place where ladies wobble about in the all together"? I eventually figured out that it was indeed a restaurant and that those mid-afternoon sedan drivers where after the blue plate special rather than the red light one. It cracks me up however to think that so many people made the same mistake as me that the owners had to call out the sign writers. I have this image of some seedy bloke in a mac furtively asking the dining room staff for a lap dance, only to have a lobster bib dangled around his neck and a foil wrapped baked potato plonked down in front of him.
Priceless.
1 comment:
is it a refrigerated barn? Do they get the cream right there? Don't the cows get cold?
Maine is strange to me!
Post a Comment