The Mystery Behind a Creepy, Hilarious, Official-Looking Sign About a "Plague" That Appeared in Ballard Recently


I saw a paper version of that sign on the Hill about two weeks ago. So, it's come to upgrading to metal/professional signs, has it? Well, well, well... or, uh, Unwell, unwell, unwell.

Anyone got a tl,dr version of that?
Oh man, you called the DMV!? I mean, this might go ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP. Nice knowing you.
My boyfriend Mark drove the car up I-5. It was late, must've been...I dunno, 4 am? The road was completely empty. Empty, that is, save for one solitary figure tromping down the median. He was carrying nothing, but had a long chain that stretched for several years of knotted handkerchiefs tied together. Naturally, I asked Mark to pull up next to this guy.

"What's going' on, buddy?" I asked with a grin.

"Fuck you and your cafe culture, you sonofabitch......"

I laughed my ass off while Mark slammed the accelerator and sent us plunging North into Seattle's downtown.

This was the moment i decided to make this place my home. It was just too fucking weird not to.

I have since travelled far and wide, but I always find myself coming back home to Seattle. There's times when I'm on the Greyhound moving West on I-90, and I catch that first eyeful of the Space Needle, the tears just start welling up in my eyes and I feel like I can't speak. No, that's not the toxic fumes from some damn cafe, though I know that;s what you were thinking.

Back around 20 years ago in Taco a, on 6th Ave, ether used to be a coffee shop called Cafe Wa. Inside, there were these garden blocks leaning against the wall with letters on them, and it spelled YOU ARE SO STRANGE. Outside that window looking down Sprague, you could see a row of houses that had been condemned by the City for being too close to some asshole's meth lab that had contaminated the area. In the other direction there was The Gold Ball, a notorious dive bar where I once got a blowjob from a 20 year old with a full set of false teeth. Getting my dick gummed next to the stage where the drag performers hosted a karaoke night was par for the course in those days.

Downtown was the 24th Street Tavern, a fetish bar that had a stage ion the back where the freaks (myself included) would do pretty much anything you can imagine. I once observed the sawdust on the floor and asked the bartender about it- apparently this made it much easier to clean up when somebody puked.

My friend Jeremy worked at the Mecca, a three story porn shop with a theatre, which was one of his closing duties to clean the floors of. He's now a practicing psychiatrist (no shot) and the Mecca has been renovated into luxury condos. When I think of all the DNA spilled on the same floors now covered with oriental rugs of questionable origin and faux leather sofas, I try to imagine how many generations could be cloned if someone were ever to give the floorboards a good scrape.

Way out in the Valley Valley, across the street from this place where you went to sell plasma, lay the Spout N Toad. The Toad had a restaurant for the underagers and a bar for the overagers, with a bouncer sitting in the hallway between.

The Polar Bar had been where the Commerce Street bus station now is. It closed shortly before I moved to town, but it was apparently well loved and delightfully seedy.

One night, my friend Trinity decided to drive me up to the Ave, which was still a thing. We stopped in at the Last Exit to Brooklyn and then to a Taco Bell where this wannabe teenage vampire tried to give me a hickey. When I returned the favor, I found to my dismay that he had artificially dyed his hair black with shoe polish- which came off in my mouth. I looked like a rabid dog as this dark green foam erupted from my lips. Dracula's illegitimate child ran out the door as soon as I expressed my surprise.

I love you, Seattle. There's no place like home, and I wish so desperately I were there. Now that Trump is turning all the bright colors to grey, I wish I could retreat to the Freak Kingdom once again.
Folks back east just ain't right.
Wandering Stars wins this article.
@6 Seconded
When my dopey co-worker excitedly told me about it, I said, "It's probably an ad."

So is this piece.
@4 FTW
@2 tl;dr: viral marketing campaign from a zombie fiction author. nothing to see here.
irregardless? but bonus for defenestration
You MUST read Warm Bodies! It is unlike any other zombie book! It's told from the perspective of a zombie! And then you're lucky, because the next installment is already out and you don't have to wait, pining all day for it.