Thursday, January 12, 2012
The title: there were some a few years back, pre-renovation.
The feet: we wished to experience how much comfort millions can buy.
The verdict: concrete lounge chairs aren't as relaxing as mesh lounge chairs.
Not a burial mound. Officially.
What a view.
The seats are too low, the table too high. As The Duchess astutely pointed out, it's as if it was designed by someone with an intimate knowledge of gulag dining.
Anti-homeless makeshift boudoir guard rail for your protection.
We've got one, too. See, I'm positive, I'm fucking positive.
AMERICAN ISN'T CAPITALIZED RALPH IS A RED
This green space looks suspiciously like my high school track.
Well, okay, as long as the ordinances are codified.
"Duchess, what could this miniature table possibly be used for?"
"Doing a line." True story. The conversation, silly rabbits.
We can't afford drugs on a Peon's salary.
The garbage can of the future -- today!
Viking booty storage.
Avian industriousness elicits both applause & tears.
Thinking caps, kids. What's wrong with the following pair of images:
When low on funds, snark is an acceptable substitute.
♪ MY LOVE FOR YOU IS LIKE HULETT, BERSERKER ♫
Attend? I'd much rather disregard them.
Lack of snow makes me seasonally affected & disorderly.
More scare tactics.
COULD BE TOXIC CALL FEMA
Because we're twelve years old.
Looking glass Wicky Wacky thumbs up with gusto.