The English town of Bury made the news recently thanks to a poorly worded sign.
Speaking of English unfortunate names, there’s the oft linked to in the board faggot loving Doody family of the West Midlands. (Better than a Doody loving Faggot family, I suppose.)
I often see restaurant signs with smiling cartoon versions of the very animals whose flesh they’re serving up.
On this note, the seafood-centered restaurant at the Shedd Aquarium makes me wonder if they serve the ugly fish, the ones that never come out of hiding, the slow learners for the water show…
The oral surgeon who removed my wisdom teeth was named Dr. Fear.
His partner? Doctor Hitchcock.
My dentist is Dr. Pitts.
My college synthesizer teacher was Mr. Noyse.
For some reason, the smiling pigs outside of barbecue places bother me the most.
There’s a nursing home in Collingwood, ON called “Sunset Manor.”
Sunset Manor. Because you go there for the “sunset” of your life, I guess. My mom says that if I ever put her into “Sunset Manor” she will come back and haunt me.
When I see the smiling pigs, I am reminded on the “Dish of the Day” from the Restaurant at the End of The Universe.
Four legs good, four legs slathered in sauce and slow-roasted better.
Although you have to admit that Chick-Fil-A got it right.
Conversely, I frequently torture my children by proclaiming, “Yummy! Doggie-Q!” when we pass J.J. McBrewsters, a barbecue place near us. Their sign prominently features a rather surly looking bulldog.
These probably don’t translate too well, but still:
The cemetery in my home town is located in a road called ‘In Der Freiheit’ (‘in freedom’). That’s bad enough, but it also happens to be a dead end.
A local Doner Kebab advertised on a small board outside their shop their ‘Hähnchendöner’ (‘chicken kebab’) and their ‘Kalbsdöner’ (‘veal kebab’), but also their ‘Kinderdöner’ (‘child kebab’)…
Actually, that’s a statement I’ve never uttered. 
And I’ve always wondered why they assume that if cows miraculously achieved the complete physiological rewrite needed to give them the dexterity and intellect to write they’d be lousy spellers with sloppy handwriting and be lousy spellers. In fact, add to Chick-Fil-A’s indictment that they insult the intellect of sentient dexterous cows.
My wife’s friend used to go to this gynecologist. Seriously, could he have found a better profession?
Oh, come on. That’s how you know it’s good barbecue. The food gets better the less pig-like the activity of the smiling pig. Wearing an apron and dancing the tango? That’s going to be some damned fine eating, there.
My mother pointed to a Japanese restaurant called **Nagasaki **Steakhouse. I didn’t want to eat there.
You know the wasabi is going to be amazing, right?
I can’t help but grin when I recall the time I saw the one armed man feeding branches into a wood chipper.