Meet Betty Beaver...

Hello everyone. Last weekend Sarah and I drove out to visit our friend Heather who's going to school at Tufts, near Boston. It was a long day of driving but great to spend some time together and reunite Anheathrah for a couple of hours anyway. However, we met another very special friend along the way. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Betty Beaver...

Yeah... um, I'm not really sure what to say about this. But just in case the situation needs any clarification, here's another picture of Miss Beaver that accentuates her, um... assests shall we say.

I'm pretty sure this is the most disturbing gas-station logo I've ever seen. Didn't know a large, voluptuous, patriotic rodent could make me feel quite so uncomfortable. She's like a distinctly non-human Hooters waitress. Chatter the Chipmunk's estranged cousin or maybe Smoky the Bear's swanky significant other. I can just picture the guys who came up with this. A couple of self-educated Xena experts in their mid-thirties, sitting around in one of their parent's cellars eating bags of potato chips and playing video games...

"Hey man, we should like totally open a gas station."

"Great idea man, but how are we going to score us some chicks?"

"How about we call it 'Betty Beavers'? Chicks will totally dig the clever word play."

"Yeah, that'd be awesome. And our mascot could be this wicked hot beaver-chick with giant boobs. That'd be so cool."

Yikes... Now I'm seriously creeped out. But if you guys are ever in the Fultonville area (just off the Thruway, one exit west of Amsterdam), you might want to pay ol' Betty a visit. It'll give you a whole new perspective on what it means to be a mammal. Finally, as if our lipstick-wearing, 3-D enhanced, flag-enrobed, hose-holding, DDD-endowed friend wasn't enough, she left us with this insightful slogan...

Take a moment to let that sink in, and then remember that there are still plenty of good reasons not to immediately kill yourself. Really, there are...