Calamity Jane

Exiting before Texiting
I do like that they provide a suggested post, a flame emoticon and three !!!, though the  person depicted below looks more “whatevers” than “!!!What?!!!”

Since the striped pizza slice graphic is the universal sign for “Get your WiFi here!” apparently this woman is about to have a bouncing baby router. Perhaps her condition is the consequence of acting like a little HottieSpot a few months ago.

In Pittsburgh, we spruced up our tunnels, meaning we added lighting that is permanently set on Extra Grim and transformed the soot blackened walls into soot smeared walls. Plus we added helpful signs like the one below, which offers the option of running either 477  or 94 feet for dear sweet life.  Dasher’s choice!

We also installed every 500 feet or so are these cheery spots:

Which looks to me exactly like a sign that a pack of starving Zombies would post to attract the raw materials for their All-You-Can-Eat Brains Buffet.  Since only a brainless ninny would rush, arms flailing over their heads/hands flapping like panicked pigeons about their ears, into a mile long tunnel during the Zombie apocalypse, the jokes on them-bies.
“Dammit!” Zombie tosses cranium aside. “Another empty!”

And finally, speaking of the Zombie Apocalypse and the general leeriness we all feel in this go-go all the time modern world. I got a sign for that:

Credit: Thank you Karen P for the reminder that blowing up on twitter is less important than actually blowing up. And thank you Ginnie for the hotspot mama and Peg for risking life, limb, and brains by slowing down in the tunnel and snapping a few photos.

CJ

This I understand:

It’s a 30 foot hotdog on an undersized bun with teeny tiny probably pickle sized wheels. Plus it’s a denizen of the lazy, hazy days of summer.

But this?

Seriously, dude? You’re a polar bear, get it together!

Holding ourselves in a vertical position this winter has been extra challenging, so as a public service (of sorts), here are “Seven Stylish Ways to Leave your Feet”
The Fred Astaire

The Gene Kelly

The Alien Abduction

The Banana Peel

The Dying Cockroach

The OOPsyDown

The Post-Christmas Slippery Slope
(notice the figure’s packing a few extra lbs)

And yet on another, but still chilling subject:
GOING

GOING

GOING

GONE!

or as they like to say in Slovenia “Slovo!”

Actually, perhaps it’s best just to stay safely inside at your office…or not.
   
Side note: I have performed the “Ass end over backwards in a wheeled chair” (Skirted Lady Division) and the “Dash for the bagels in the break room cord entanglement,” but to date I have not been out run by an empty cart. So I guess there’s that to look forward too.

Until next time be careful out (and in) there!

CJ

I love McDonalds. They, and my parents’ unwillingness to wait for a special order for that kid who didn’t like ketchup, pickles, mustard or onions, taught me to endure, if not embrace, the random pooey gooeyness of fine dining. Though I did eat my lifetime allotment of Big Macs and Quarter pounders by 2002, I do relish some of McDonald’s more savvy outdoor advertising.

Check out this sign, which, in daylight is just a blank red billboard, yet at night, when will power wanes and the appetite awakens, the lights wink on…agical.

This time it’s daylight that illuminates. Undoubtedly posted in some magical land where the sun shines brightly most days (def not Pittsburgh), this sundial works its way through  6 hours, and about 2,000 calories, of Mickey D delicacies.

Speaking of passing time…
By day it’s a mysterious white, oval sphere:

Then, the crack of dawn:

and slowly the oval becomes an ovum:

At last, breakfast is served!

And finally, taking a break from admiring the professional smart cookies entrenched in advertising agencies, it’s time to give a shout out to the front line smart alecks who carpe the moment, climb a ladder, swipe a letter or two, rearrange at will, and risk their low paying jobs, just to amuse us random passerbys.

CREDITS: Thank Bensonium for letting me repost their parody of the McDonald’s spot.

CJ

There are multiple ways to behave when encountering a wild animal:
Put up your dukes!

Though your dukes are edible, as is the rest of you.

Run like a chicken!

However, chicken is exactly what he was hoping you tasted like anyway.

Make a small offering.

Moving from wild beasts to beastly natural forces that are intent upon opening a can of whoop ass on you, the best policy, even if you don’t have feet,  is to:
RUN!

RUN REALLY FAST!

OR…
Stand there screaming, in your tiny Speedo, mouth wide open, as a wall of water descends upon you.

Finally, just like in every post 1968 nature show (45 minutes of harrowing lion on zebra violence), we have to conclude with “and yet the most terrifying and destructive predator on the planet is–MAN!”

So here are some man-made horrors:

Apparently, there are fricken lasers that randomly strike people down and then set them on fire.

And attack copiers that rip your clothes off:

“I swear I had pants on when I went to xerox the lunch menu!”
“Hmmm….and explain this,”  the boss holds up a xerox of bare buttocks.
“I was sitting on it, trying to get my jeans back, and it took a picture! Cheeky bastard.”

And this…
Okay, so TWO people ended up like this AT THE SAME TIME?

Looks like a headhunters going to market with his shrunken head collection.

Until next time, whether it’s man or beast or nature, be careful out there.

CJ

First of all, how big is this wheel and why is it just rolling around wreaking havoc in the world? Plus I like that they added the caution about ‘flying chips,’ though they do seem to be harmlessly ricochetting off that guy like bullets off Superman.

Here’s another industrial horror, which has the rather understated title of “Entanglement Hazard.” To me “entanglement” is getting caught up in your underwear, not getting processed like fresh pasta dough by a product of American manufacturing ingenuity. Though on these bitter cold nights, where flannel jammies and flannel sheets are de rigueur, this level of desperate embroilment does happens — usually when I’m trying to exit ‘comfy acres’ to make my 3 o’clock pilgrimage to set my bare bum on that ice ring we call a toilet seat.

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Apparently there are places where unmarked holes abound. In the Don’t Run scenario, first they show a male figure, then, so you don’t think it’s a time lapsed illustration, they show a female figure (note dress) toppling down to God only know’s where. The third guy, still on terra firma, is somewhat bigger than the two tumblers, so…is that Dad?
“Honey, where are the kids? Weren’t you just playing tag with them? Let’s get a family video!”
“Er…”

And finally, you think some things, like “Do not put your hand in the cow” can be assumed, but yet…

Plus, what’s with the electric shock symbol next to the danger sign? This kid’s likely get a quick kick in the chops, but zapped too? Also the cow looks so fatalistic, so resigned, so philosophical, so “Now what, people?” I think I’m going to have to switch to soy milk.

CREDITS:
Merci, Laurie for the Cow sign! Everything else I cadged from the Internet, perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s going to be BIG!

CJ

I took this photo at Zion National Park and, though not shown, there was a squirrel (much friskier looking than the poor, world weary varmint depicted below) who was posted up right next to this sign like it was his job. He was being hand fed by delighted and delightful little girl. Though the sign urged me to “Please Report Violators” busting up this sylvan scene seemed wrong, and frankly they were being just a little too coy about exactly who would be the recipient of the $100 Penalty…

Plus the squirrel just seemed so grateful!

Speaking of squirrels, and I was, I came across this item for sale ($6.95) in Pittsburgh’s Strip district where, though the name ‘the Strip’ conjures all sorts of nakey thoughts, clothes are encouraged, nay required for ALL.

And in case you were wondering how they dealt with the bushy tail, here’s a backside shot.

And almost finally…
Don’t forget that squirrels bite, even ones, or maybe, especially ones that seem to be mutants from the Planet Chocolate Easter Bunny. I am struck by the lack of alarm by both parties especially considering the size of the chunk missing from of this person’s index finger. And, I don’t want to be gruesome, but where are Pinky, Ring Finger and Middle (AKA Sweary) Finger? How many encounters has this person had with this monster? Perhaps, it’s time revisit the practice/meaning of ‘hand feeding’?

And finally, for real this time, my favorite rodent-like creature video ever:

Til next time, stay warm!

CJ

 
Forewarned is forearmed, but ducks and the Australian Bilby, which is about the same size as a bunny rabbit, are not quite the same fearsome road hazard as say
SASQUATCH!

Though to be fair, this Sasquatch seems to be sweetly carrying some sort of present, perhaps a box of chocolates to his lady friend, Sassybiatch.

Speaking of forewarned and forearmed…

I suggest if your betrothed is overly excited about the convenience of this municipal one stop shopping opportunity, that you recast your rod into the eHarmony dating pool but this time leave out the part about long romantic walks on a firing range.

Here’s is another helpful municipal sign, this one from the Queensboro Bridge.
Possibly this sign is making an oblique appeal to those in a “Goodbye-Cruel-World” kind of mood, but more likely it’s literally telling people that cyclone fencing, railings and a percipitous drop into the inky blackness of the East River does not a an exit make. You have to wonder what events inspired the posting of such a sign…”Are you telling me anudder yahoo from Ohiyas fell ofata bridge into da East Riber?”
“Yes Mr. Koch, sir,” replied the Minister of “How’m I doin’?” Signage.

Another sign that also plucked my  “What the hell’s been going on here, people?” string was this:

Specifically, what was it about the Oreo that earned it this banishment? Certainly any sandwich cookie could have been deployed in a cookie crumb and icing maelstrom. But I think the Library, in fairness, is not allowing itself to get caught up in baked good profiling, sweeping up innocent Vanilla Cremes, Nutter Butters and Do-Si-Dos.

I did google Oreo/Library/Debacle, and though I didn’t learn anymore about the incident eluded to above, I did come across this:

which is reminded me of the Turducken (chicken inside a duck, inside a turkey). But I think to complete the trifecta of ingredients required of this revered gastronomic form, the Oreo enrobed in a chocolate chip cookie would need to be shoved inside a Twinkie. And Viola, the Twinkchipeo is born!

CREDITS:
Thank you Julie for first recognizing the hilarity of the duck sign, then stopping along the freeway to capture it for me.
Bilby and Sasquatch, I found, or rather they found me, on the World Wide Web.
Ever Vigilant Virginia sent the marriage and pistol sign as well as the Anti-Oreo Edict
Margo Polo, an intrepid and spunky explorer, snapped the “Not An Exit” sign in NYC.

’til next time!

CJ

When I was a kid the climax in virtually all of my cinematic experiences was the floundering and then subsequent rescuing of the villain from sure death in quicksand. Admittedly, I mostly watched Tarzan movies set in Africa, which is apparently pocked with Venus Man Traps of the sandy variety.
Since the heyday of the Tarzan flicks, intrepid sign makers have been at work crafting increasingly alarming quicksand warning signs that cover everything from “Blimey, this is a sticky wicket!” to “Glub, Glub, Bye, Bye.”

Whether you call Kviksand, Drijfzand or Quicksand, it all sucks!

While quicksands drags you down to the watery depths, nothings lifts you up quite like the rapture. Behold! Saint John, the Cyclist.

Of course it’s only fair that if the rapture zones are to be clearly marked that the smiting areas should also have proper warning signs, may I humbly suggest:

Dictionary sidebar: the verb “smite” means literally to strike with a firm blow, while the past participle of smite is “smitten” which means to be strongly attracted to someone.  And who hasn’t been there, am I right my friend?

Thanks Gin for getting me going on the quicksand quest by sending the panicked jazz hands of the Drijfzand victim and also for the ascension scene from the bike lane.

Until next time, be careful out there, you’ve been warned.

CJ

Warning: Tyme travel ahead…

Speaking of time travel, nothing harkens you back to the days of yore quite like extra e’s, p’s and sometymes y.

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On the sign below, I have to wonder, who is this for? Are there legion of folks who want to take their seagulls to the beach? Do they see the sign and say: “Oh! Sorry Jonathan, you’ll have to stay in the car. And don’t eat all the bread.” Clearly, the bird perched on top of the sign is a free spirited renegade, yet willing to pose for, but not obey, signs.

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And finally, a salute to sartorial splendor:
A Gentlemen on a Bike:

A Disco Dude on a Work Site:

Stayin’ Alive?

Thank Gin for the naughty seagull image and Gilby for the top-hatted cyclist! The express train to yesteryear and ‘shoppe’ sign I found online, the careless disco dancer sign I found in Paris.

CJ