A few years ago I ran across a sign over an open cooler of beer in my local grocery store, that said, “Drink while you shop.”
Goodness gracious sakes alive! I mean, sure I want to drink while I shop. But I’m not drunk already! I have my dignity to maintain! Can we get a euphemism here! “A brew while you browse,” how about?
And now, Writing Boots’ Toronto correspondent Neil Hrab spotted this roadside sign the other day.
Jesus Christ almighty!
I once wrote a newspaper story on a Chicago store that sold live chickens. They would also murder the chicken upon request, and you could take the bird home still warm. Of course, I asked to go back into the killing room. The proprietor had the good sense to deny my request, knowing that anything I wrote about that grisly scene would not help him sell more chickens.
And now thanks to a copywriter who has clearly gotten a little too close to the subject—instead of looking forward to a steak dinner tonight, I’m spending my Monday morning trying to imagine the sheer commitment it would take to slay a cow with my bare hands.
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