I’ll be a little light today, word-wise. Hope you don’t mind. If you do, well, just stick around; I’m sure I’ll wax otiose on something soon enough. All I have to report is the DirecTV guy came and figured out the problem: my dish was bad. It was absolutely naughty. He got up on the roof and put in a new one, and re-cabled everything. Rather Zen fellow; either that or he was masking his contempt and anger over something, because he seemed a bit . . . tense sometimes. When I pointed him to the wires in back of the TV and said, jokingly, “how about that cabling, eh? Nice and tidy.”

“I’ve seen worse” he said from behind the TV.

Okay, thanks. Also, the gazebo arrived. The workmen could not get the boxes up the steps, because they weighed a quarter ton.

The main posts are HUGE. They’re like sequoias.

This one isn’t going anywhere. Stay tuned: it goes up this weekend.

As you know, it's Motel day. You do know that, right? You do realize that this site is programmed like an old TV network, with the idea of providing dependable mix of themes and subjects? No? It's all a blur? Sigh. Anyway: I was looking for a restaurant on Google, because eventually Thursday will be Restaurant day. You do know that, rig-

Okay, I'll shut up.

I saw this:


I flew up in the air, because we can do that now:



What's missing? Humans. Cars.

The cool thing about Google Street View? Topographic views. The motel looks squished, alas -



- but you still get a sense of the way it commanded its site.


The Mountain View Lodge, Corbin KY. Permanently closed, says the internet. Caught fire last summer.

A local TV commercial from the days when it was open:



Compare that with this clip, shot by people who say the place was haunted. I don't know what they're trying to show here, but the scenes of the room tells you what it was like towards the end.



There's something doomed about 60s two-story motels. Everywhere. Every town. And it seemed to happen so fast.



From the back of men's mags & general interest low-brow fiction.

"May be taken in SECRET" means you can slip it in his drinks, and when he throws up - well, throws up earlier than usual - he won't know it's the ALCOREM

Guaranteed to make everyone who uses it hurl up every drop, then bend over gasping as knives stab at their guts. They'll never drink again, because they can't stand up. Deforms spines instantly. Guaranteed.

Order now and we'll send 21 capsules of cheap Mexican amphetamine, so you can get started on a new habit.

(Ask about PINKIEREM, which banishes cravings for Pinkies.)

It’s not the Kinsey Report, just a book about it. And the full title appears to be FROM FREUD TO KINSEY 10 DAYS AT OUR EXPENSE, which sounds like it comes with a week and a half in Vegas so you can test your STARTLING NEW INFORMATION.



Ninety-five percent of the active male population would have to be put away? Yes! And 37% of them would like it, since 22% of them having fantasized about being "put away" for more than six minutes over the course of the last 19 months, and the rest had expressed "interest" or "mild curiousity" about being "put away," with 3% of those insisting that diapers should be involved somehow. Yes, here's what you've heard about: tables and charts and statistics about sex that never really get around to the good stuff you were looking for.

“Things not previously talked about now appear widespread and common.” That’s for sure. “For people who are tortured with shame, startling new information is available.” Yes! You should be really ashamed, you pervert! New information confirms you shouldn’t have it off with the housepets! God! You're disgusting.





As I said last week: "I marked this entire folder MYSTERY, and I must have meant something." I did, and it turns out I gave it away last week without realizing it. But let's pretend you forgot, or didn't notice, or that I'm really hyping up interest when there's no mystery at all. (Hint: C) (No, I didn't say that!)

Probably a gas station, yes. But it’s a very odd looking structure.

So what happens in Roscoe? Seems like we might be asking what happened.


Okay okay I’ll scrape it off


Hey, did you do the paint job at the welding store?

Sure did

Got any more of that color?

Sure do

I cannot begin to explain.




Obviously this was a gas station, and obviously the street is some strange kind of liquid/solid that washes up like the waves on a concrete beach.



In case you’re curious about that thing leaning up against the wall:



Not a gas station sign. It’s a plowboy. The high school sports team is the Plowboys. A web search brought up pictures of the sign standing in a field; this would seem to indicate it’s been removed.


All right, logo detectives: this one should be easy.




I’ve said it before: if everything’s going to be shut down, it helps if it has nice trim.




Uh -



These aren’t the most impressive old buildings. Even when they were new and occupied and had glass, they were unimpressive.

Well, it’s a small town. I'm sure it gets better and quainter soon.


Signs of life - those are new bricks. Someone’s going to turn the tractor repair into some small shops, I hope. Unless this was started in 2008, or something.



Little kid with a Jughead cap, hanging out with a friend whose has a big-brimmed cap.


Man, that’s some serious Buckaroo Revival Deluxe, right there.



Ghost sign. From Shelansky’s 2012 obit:

Bernard Shelan (né Shelansky) passed away Wednesday night, Nov. 21, at the age of 96 from natural causes.


He was born in St. Louis, MO to Charles and Rae Shelansky and raised in South Philadelphia and Roscoe, Texas.

A local football star, Bernie “The Mouse” Shelansky—in spite of his small stature—was awarded a football scholarship to Abilene Christian College, where he graduated in 1938 with a B.S. Degree in Physical Training and set a new kickoff return record that remained in tact for 20 years.

Bernie served in the Army Air Corps during WWII and—with his wife, Sylvia—assumed ownership of the family business, Shelansky’s Dry Goods in Roscoe Texas.

Okay us big trees are going to go around the back and see if we can force the door. You stay out here as a lookout



I’m sure it is.



What is that, a hitching post for corgis?



There’s some Texas for you:





One more day until Friday: aren't we lucky? See you around.


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