Though I make no bones about the fact that this is far from a personal blog, I do tend to wax poetic about the totally surreal experience of growing up in the rural south. With that in mind, I present you with this delightful slice of life.
While visiting my mother for Thanksgiving I saw this preposterous bit of graffiti on a stop sign in the old neighborhood. My little sister, who still lives on that same mill hill, was nice enough to snap a picture of it for me on her cell phone.
I can only assume the hillbilly hellraiser in question meant to scrawl the expletive “fuck” on the sign. Instead he wrote the significantly less offensive “folk,” which, I suppose, is a homophone if your accent is thick enough.
I weep for the American educational system.
