With the impending doomtacular threat of superblizzards snowing us in the Towering Slab Jack Torrance style, we get out while the gettin's good.
Lest ye forget, Clevelandia is above a Hellmouth.
Don't fence me in.
The Wild, Wild Western Reserve.
NAFTA's secret headquarters --
-- & the Masons. Coincidence?
Save the did-you-burst-into-flames jokes.
Not quite Harry, but not bad.
Hey you, let's fight.
Take that, Saracen.
Somebody said, "fair warning, Lord!", Lord, strike that poor boy down.
Guess somebody was this guy.
Lemme show ya something!
Unwanted coffee? Who's the real heathen here?
Son of Spooky.
Someone, not me, completely ruined my shot.
Alack! Alack! Verily my heart breaketh!
But in yon rain -- & a clear lens -- 'tis joy again.
You were right, Ted, the Illuminati are onto you.
The legendary six-demon bag.
Clevelandia wishing well.
Rain or shine, bunga bunga always has time.
I too find miracles in the bottom of a bottle.
I like figs.
I like corned beef.
Sure, we have those kinds of doctors.
Of course Zip would be the business manager.
Sell it, baby.
No thanks, I like to be spiritual.