Blathr Wayne Lorentz

On a boat, off the coast of the Cayman Islands, there is a sign reading “Maximum passenger: 250.” Next to it is another sign reading “72 adultʼs life jackets.” I can go three ways with this:

1. Since “Adultʼs” is possessive, who are the 72 people who reserved a life jacket in advance?
2. In the event of an emergency, the shipping company is OK with losing 178 passengers to sharks.
3. Since there are no life jackets for children, in the event of an emergency, it appears weʼre supposed to use them to distract the sharks.

The sign on the outside reads “No loitering or sitting here.” The artist on the inside is clearly both sitting and loitering as he works his watercolors.

When I last lived in Houston, the Midtown neighborhood was also known as Little Saigon. Youʼd never know it today.

Most of the streets had Vietnamese street signs, there were at least a half-dozen Vietnamese restaurants, plus supermarkets, general stores, social clubs, and more. One restaurant was well-known because of its giant sign “Fu Kim.”

Today, thatʼs almost all gone.

This is the only Vietnamese street sign I know of in Midtown. The only other evidence that the area had any Asian influence at all is a peeling sign above an auto repair shop.

Iʼve been told that most of the Vietnamese people moved to the suburbs, but among the people Iʼve spoken with, there doesnʼt seem to be a consensus about why. Some say itʼs because property in Midtown became too expensive, but that seems unlikely, as itʼs still really quite cheap. Others say itʼs because the initial wave of post-Vietnam War immigrants became assimilated, and as they became upwardly mobile, they pursued the American dream in the ʼburbs.

I donʼt intuitively understand the link between liquor stores and rabbits, but I approve of neon signs, so Iʼm OK with this.

When the National Museum of Funeral History tells you not to open a casket, you do not open the casket.

Three fails in one word. Pretty impressive.

1. “Maintenance” is spelled wrong
2. The line break isnʼt between syllables
3. The line break isnʼt hyphenated

An additional point should be deducted for putting a dingbat in the middle of a sentence.

For four miles, I saw no tortoises. I feel ripped off.

This may be the only occasion when a tortoise has been described as having a wild life.

Lunch is down in that valley. Itʼs a 40 mile detour.

You can tell this is a “dangerous area” and that “this is not a trail” by the five million bootprints going around the warning sign.

Iʼm not sure that 60° and palm trees is exactly a winter storm, even in Las Vegas.

25? She wishes.

Itʼs a good thing the motel has this sign in the bathroom. Because I was totally going to park my car in the toilet.

This helpful gubʼmint sign lists the amenities in all of the villages in the Greater Meteopolitan Death Valley Meteoplex.

Notice that there are more places to swim than use your cell phone.

Here we see Darcie holding a piece of pottery she found at an abandoned Anasazi city. A few days later we learned that the Navajo believe touching Anasazi pottery shards is super duper bad luck.

There really should be a sign or something.

I wasnʼt worried until I read the sign.

A neon gem down a dark side street. Every 1940ʼs film approves.

For Millennials, itʼs not just a home; itʼs a hate crime.

I wonder what a “Human” icon would look like, if snakes could make signs.

I guess thereʼs no icon for “Indian in a wheelchair.”

Now you know how to say “No smoking” in Navajo.

Thank you. Sorry I knocked over that big brochure stand in the lobby.

So… this is a thing.

Thereʼs at least two ways to go with this one.

1. Itʼs a funeral home. In a strip mall.
2. Itʼs a funeral home that doesnʼt bury individuals; only families.

Did this motel just compliment me on my butt?

It looks like the Sands Motel is fresh outta Wʼs. Jam a couple of Vʼs together, and nobody will notice.

Thatʼs strange. I didnʼt even know Bumoto was running this year. Heʼs not on my ballot.

Much better than the spicy hot air conditioning.