In a ritzy little seasonal/tourist town along Lake Michigan, where we assumed the 97.2% Caucasian population (no kidding - I looked it up here) speaks English as a native language, we found an awkwardly punctuated sign at the public beach. It is worth noting that "public" here means "approximately the size of a Snicker's bar," as it was wedged tightly between miles of adjoining private beaches duly warning against loitering. And this in a town of 1200 people that has as its motto "The Village of Friendliness."
|Ah, punctuation. Let alone graphic design basics like font and alignment.|
At the top of the stairs descending to this selfsame Village of Friendliness beach, we found a frightening notice about ticks, which were apparently bigger than the beach itself. Not until we got very close to read the fine print (and what self-respecting beachgoer wouldn't stop to learn more about a creepy-crawly the size of Nick's hand?) did we learn that the fearsome ticks are more like the size of, well, air molecules. Tricksters.
|Creepy sign suggest one may find Shelob and Aragog at the beach.|
(see Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter for giant spider-y references)
|Oh, gosh, I should have brought my reading glasses to the beach.|
Another sign caught my eye when we went to buy ammo for the shotgun. (Um, yeah, ammo. Nick's brother had a clay pigeon set-up on the in-law's family farm and everyone 12 years and over tried it out. We quickly tired of the tiny orange frisbees (they're not really pigeon-shaped) as they hurled themselves far away from where we were aiming, and so we set up ugly-Goodwill-clothes-scarecrows. True story. If this is redneck fun, I want more). ANYWAY. We went to the ammo shop and saw this sign with local fishing news and promos for the store's fine wares.
|"Meat rigs"?? Isn't that like zombie bait? |
This was well beyond my understanding of hook + worm = fishing.
I was intrigued.
Then I kept reading.
|Whoa there: WHAT kind of fly are they selling? |
Aren't proctologists the doctors who..., well, enough said about THAT.
Fishing intrigue canceled.
In the very same Friendly Town, we noticed this painting on a family-owned grocery store. From a distance, this is a nice homey touch, illustrating three generations of hard-working folks who feed the local community.
|Family grocery store. Very nice.|
|The son is not right, either.|
|And the scary gene was passed onto the next generation, too.|
I think I'd rather face those enormous beach ticks than meet this family in the dairy aisle.
|Thank you, Google.|
Ah, America. Home of the free.