For example, here’s a hand-painted sign for a bar:
I’d stop in for a drink after work, but I don’t have a pair of pink leather assless chaps.
In another previous post, I showed this building, which boasts a flying saucer on the roof:
Less than a block away from Hank’s bar is another flying saucer, which has been parked in the liquor store parking lot for months.
It holds four aliens seated in comfort, arranged so that they can play bridge on the long journey from Alpha Centauri.
But by far the strangest thing on my commute so far is this bungalow with a hollow tree out in front.
Wait, what’s that in the trunk? OH-MY-GOD.
I’ll bet the neighborhood kids don’t stop there on Halloween.