Renaissance Babies Who Can’t Even

39 Renaissance Babies Who Can't Even

This baby just can’t anymore.

They simply cannot. Via Ugly Renaissance Babies.

via 39 Renaissance Babies Who Can’t Even.

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Truly L’enfant Terrible

After awhile, they began referring to him as “L’enfant.” The young one. The little boy. “L’enfant called 20 times today,” they’d say. “That was L’enfant on the phone.”

It was a way to maintain sanity, a weird sense of levity, in the midst of an insane situation. Even today, almost a decade after the thousands of phone calls began, no one at the Marrakesh Restaurant knows who L’enfant is. All they know is nearly every day since 1983, someone–and perhaps more than one person–has called this popular Moroccan spot and harassed its employees.

L’enfant demands money. He threatens people with death, screams obscenities and babbles in pornographic terms. In the mid- to late-’80s, when the calls were at their height, they took an especially bizarre turn. L’enfant would call, imitating a range of voices: a young girl, a small black child, adults with Middle Eastern accents. Sometimes the callers would carry on crude conversations or begin abusing whomever answered.

static.squarespace.comvia A Chain of Terror : For Nearly 10 Years, a D.C. Restaurateur Has Lived in Fear, Harassed by Anonymous Calls He Thinks Are Linked to His ’74 Abduction in Beirut – Los Angeles Times.

This story is completely nuts. Seriously, go to the link & finish it.


to B or not to BnB

What’s Yours Was Mine: An Airbnb Review: By

[…]Which brings me to your day planner, in the poorly locked top drawer of the desk. Who is “Q”? You and s/he sure seem to have had a lot of dinners last month, plus that long weekend in the Pfalz. And “N”? To be honest, Elfriede, you seem kind of overcommitted. There are all sorts of people out there, not all of whom will understand you. Take, for instance, the dark-chocolate-orange Häagen-Dazs in your freezer. It’s my favorite flavor. And my choice refreshment is the Lagavulin that I see you’ve stored behind the stylish garments in your closet. Coincidence?

Sad_Ice_Cream_by_AdventDeo

via What’s Yours Was Mine: An Airbnb Review – The New Yorker.

Smart little ditty that encapsulates why Airbnb gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I finally used AirBnB as a guest for the first time a little bit ago. The hardest thing for me was not trying on the person’s shoes. I understand that sounds gross & weird, because it completely is. She just had a lovely collection that kept staring at me from the hallway. I pointedly ignored the faint, raspy whispers.. “Liiiiiisa. We’re just your size. I bet we’d be cuuuute on yooou. We just missssss feeeeeet.”

Asshole manipulative adorable shoes. I didn’t touch them, thank god, because I don’t need to be that person. We actually had quite a perfect Airbnb experience, so I highly recommend it (and by it, I really only mean one person’s apartment in Brooklyn, because that’s all I know).


Way Too Much Portland

Way Too Much Portland

 

 

word.