Urban Unrusting
(otherwise known as the 'how to get your local city counsel to address blighted building in your downtown neighborhood by way of sticked-figure boobies and gynormous weens, Friday Edition')
by gnon‑gnomic liminal pause interstitial cards committee of Zenith City
They don’t want to see a boob. They don’t want to see a ween. They don’t even want to see a line that might someday grow up to become one.
They don't even want you to know they exist.
If those frizzy-ridden French Maid gnomes had even the slightest capacity for joy, curiosity, or the appreciation of a well‑placed doodle, we would not be having half the problems we have with them.
But no. They are puritans in petticoats. They are Victorian fainting couches stood upon size-5 feet. They are little lace‑trammeled bureaucrats whose entire job is to panic at the very idea of curve.
If one of these lawn-tarter even suspected a circle might become a boob, it would throw itself into a nearby wastebasket like a pre-Reconstruction damsel swooning at the sight of an escaped ankle dancing with an exposed former slave.
SO PAINT THEM LITERALLY F*CKING EVERYWHERE!
