Doyle and his pals in Detroit decided to stage a post-apocalyptic Edwardianpunk croquet match, so they snuck into the ruins of the old truckrolled down so that I could smoke without fouling Craphound's breather. My armwas hanging out the window, the radio was booming, and Craphound said "Turnaround! Turn around, now, Jerry, now, turn around!" Link ( Thanks, Evan! ) ( Image: shanghai_planning1 , a CC Attribution photo from larryncelia's Flickr stream )
