Up and down the streets of town

I appreciate Flanders Road, the highway that runs between Hampton Bays and Riverhead, pretty much constituting the speck of Flanders. The last leg of my journey home is quite enjoyable. First, you've got your standard Big Duck. I don't know much about it, but everyone around here associates Flanders with this giant, duck-shaped building. It's pretty and all, but the eyes glow bright red at night. I imagine many a child has gone to bed creeped out by Quackers's evil orbs. Whatever. They deserve it.

Next, you've got your deer Xing signs, some of which are adorned with tiny genitals that jut from the animal's pelvis-thrusting pose. I say "genitals" because you can make out a scrotal shape. At first I thought they might be drawn on, you know, with a Sharpie or something. But the lines are pretty clean, so I suspect the culprit uses stickers. Who the fuck makes deer penis stickers? Who the fuck goes around situating the penises with such precision?

Whomever you are, God bless you and the joy you've given me.

Third, the price of gas drops 30 cents on this side of the road and I can't think of a single self-serve station. New York has rendered it illegal to put those little notches on gas pumps that allow you to leave the thing pumping while you clean the gum wrappers and joint ashes from your console. It super sucks to get gas when the winter wind is slapping you in the face like an angry husband. So I don't pump my own gas anymore. The social implications are many, but my hands stay nice and warm.