November 4th, 2007

A Pocket Full of Murder

Signs of the End

It occurs to me that I never posted about the eye-poppingly dreadful sign I saw outside a church here in town a few weeks ago:

Sunday at 11:00

Oh, yeah, I can see serious theologians lining up at the door for that one.


More recently I came across this one, outside a local farm:


And here I thought paintball was violent.


But my favorite hilarious sign incident happened at the end of this summer, when avarill was visiting. We made a trip into Mennonite country to look at furniture and do some geocaching, and by the time we approached our destination, we were all hungry. At which point the following conversation took place:

HUSBAND: Look for somewhere we can stop. I can't believe there aren't any restaurants around here.

ME: [reading off a sign by the roadside] Tomatoes... sweet corn... quilts... schnoodle pups.

H.: Schnoodle pups! Those sound pretty tasty. I could go for one of those.

ME: ...

avarill: ...

H.: What?

ME: Er, I think those are actually, y'know, puppies. Schnauzer, poodle... schnoodle.

H.: ...

ME and avarill: *bust up laughing*

The sad thing is, they do sound like they ought to be some kind of tasty deep-fried treat.