Pojo’s needs some mojo

Today I attended an 8-year-old’s birthday party at a local arcade named Pojo’s.  Though I spent (ahem…wasted) about ten dollars trying–and failing–to win the stupid Pile Up game, taking these photographs didn’t cost me a penny:

Offordable.  Offordable?!  Of course, the sign is supposed to be advertising “affordable” fun, but what I’m seeing is a word pronounced “offered-able.”  But hold on–it gets better!  Once inside, I snatched up some of the pamphlets and flyers on display that advertise special events and birthday party packages.  One pamphlet describes Pojo’s as “tobbaco free” (correct spelling:  tobacco), while the other exhibits numerous examples of apostrophe abuse.  In fact, despite the presence of the apostrophe in the Pojo’s sign (see picture), neither the pamphlets nor the arcade’s website include an apostrophe in the name.  So, what’ll it be, Pojo’s?  Apostrophe or no apostrophe?  Make up your mind, already!

Honestly, I was going somewhere with this rant.  I think the employees at Pojo’s could really stand to benefit from the quarters I wasted on Pile Up–they should consider spending them on a dictionary!


You need some grammar lessons and stuff

I probably shouldn’t be surprised that a business called “Fish Aquariums and Stuff” would misspell the word clearance.

Served with Red Pen Dipping Sauce

Following my latest post, it is pure coincidence that I passed this KFC sign.  Is it possible that the everlasting rumors about KFC using genetically mutated chicken are true?  “Snow” cones aren’t really made of snow, and one of the world’s most popular suppliers is called SnoShack.  Notice the missing w?  Maybe “chicken” is missing a c because these bites aren’t really made of chicken.

Which begs the question, what is “chiken”?  Let’s play another round of DEFINE IT!  Leave your clever definitions in the comments section and let’s see if we can figure out just what $4.99 will get you at this KFC.

Man-eating Chicken

Photo Credit: Freaking News

Imagine you are eight years old again, and your parents say to you:  “Today we’re going to take you to see a six-foot man-eating chicken behind glass.”  When my parents said that to me almost 20 years ago, my mind was bombarded with images of the world’s biggest chicken, isolated behind thick, impenetrable glass and being fed whole goats to suppress its appetite so it didn’t get a craving for “Bob” or “Larry.”  All morning long, this is what I had imagined.

Around lunchtime, the suspense was making me irritable.  I couldn’t stop thinking about the oversized monster chicken.  Part of me didn’t want to believe my parents.  After all, how is it that I had lived eight long years without ever having seen a real man-eating chicken?  But my parents continued to promise that in the afternoon, I would get to witness the six-foot man-eating chicken behind glass.

The anticipation was tormenting me.  I grew more impatient than a 14-year-old girl waiting in line for a Justin Bieber concert.  Surely, this would be the most incredible day of my life.  My friends were going to PEE themselves when I told them what I’d seen.  Hell, I was ready to pee myself and I hadn’t even seen it yet!

At last, my parents appeared in my bedroom doorway and said it was time to go.  In the car, I barely managed to control my enthusiasm.  Every intersection, every turn, and every traffic light was ushering us closer to the fowl phenomenon.  When my father steered the car into the parking lot of a KFC, I was, to say the least, confused.

Sometimes it’s useless to question my parents’ decisions; stopping at the KFC was one of those times.  I followed them into the restaurant and absent-mindedly ordered chicken tenders.  We waited at the counter until an employee presented us with a tray of food.  As soon as we slid into a booth, I began to pester my parents.  What were we doing at KFC?  I thought we were going to see a man-eating chicken!  GOD, I JUST WANT TO SEE A MAN-EATING CHICKEN!

My mom and dad exchanged glances.  My mother motioned to my dad’s plate, which held a variety of extra-crispy chicken parts.  “The man-eating chicken,” she said.  “You’re looking at it.”

“That’s dad,” I argued.

By now, my dad was all giggles.  Still puzzled, I stared helplessly at my mother.

“Yes,” my mom confirmed.  “He is a six-foot-tall man, and he’s eating chicken behind glass.”  For emphasis, she motioned to the glass windows that were painted with blurbs about 8-piece meals.

In my mind, I uttered every swear word my young, innocent ears had ever heard.  To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.  But twenty years later, I can share this story as an example of how delicate grammar can be.  I recently read an article on The Huffington Post in which Kimberly Tan argues that grammar is of little importance and that content is all that truly matters in a piece of writing.  Well, honey, I hate to break it to you, but grammar matters.  For Pete’s sake, in my story above, the presence of an EN DASH changed the entire context of a statement.  The content was the same:  a string of words consisting of a six foot tall man eating chicken behind glass.  Only the en dash alters the meaning of the words, depending on where it is placed.

Some people read my blog and think I’m anal and judgmental.  Hell yes—when it comes to grammar, I am certainly anal and judgmental.  But when all it takes is a little dash to completely modify the way the words in our language are perceived, shouldn’t we all feel that way?

Grammar Cats 2

The second installment of “Grammar Cats” is here! Thank you to the few who submitted your own grammar cats (you know who you are). Enjoy!

One stop porn (and bad grammar) shop

I hope you all appreciate today’s post, because taking this picture required that I pull into the parking lot of a porn shop in a sleazy part of town. I doubt the patrons of the shop give any kind of hoot about spelling and grammar, so it’s up to me to make fun of the fact that “remodel” is misspelled on BOTH sides of this sign.

Celebrating freedom

Today I am celebrating my many freedoms as a citizen of the United States of America. Included in these freedoms is my right to criticize poor grammar. After all, Independence Day is more than history, stars and stripes, and colorful explosives; it’s also a day that has not failed to provide me with some good blogging material for three years in a row. (See: 2010 and 2011).

This year, my 4th of July post comes to you courtesy of a local veterinary clinic.

Speaking of replacements…

Here’s a box that could use a replacement label. You know, a label with correct spelling.

P.S. Don’t forget to submit your grammar lolcats for the next “Grammar Cats” video! Only four days left! Click here for details.