When I lived in the city of Chicago proper, there was this salt stain not to far from my house that looked like the Virgin Mary. It made basically everyone freak the f**k out. They’d worship it, bring it candles, try to get it to heal people, and act like all-around lunatics when it appeared, coincidentally, in the spring after it rained. Apparently, God was sending Chicago a sign that we should shape up or, I don’t know, the bridge would collapse and we would all die or something.
Obviously, I’m skeptical about these things, except I once got a Cheet-O shaped like Elvis.
That was a sign.
This is not.
The staffers called it “magical.” I call it, “obviously they were drinking sh*tty beer.”
Its sort of sad, if you think about it, though, in the way looking for signs in toast and bags of Pringles is sort of sad. And honestly, it sort of looks a little like a turtle humping a sofa, which is probably bad news.