As time was short this week, you’ll have to throw together your own pile of links and oddities in the comments. I will, however, set the ball rolling with, via Obnoxio, some classy signage; a collection of people posing for photographs with their television sets; a map showing the concentration of metal bands in Europe per million residents; some more Korean rap care of Elephants Gerald; and a reminder that among this world’s wonders are amateur video guides to public lavatories.

Oh, and this. 

One week, the administration declared that eggs would now be sold for no more than 30 cents a carton. The next week, eggs had disappeared from supermarkets, and still have not come back.

Hannah Dreier on Venezuela’s end-stage socialism:  

In the early days, the shortages seemed almost whimsical. My Venezuelan friends were used to going on Miami shopping sprees. When I made trips home, they asked me to bring back perfume, leather jackets, iPhones and condoms. I usually took two near-empty suitcases to carry back the requests, plus food and toiletries for myself. As the crisis deepened, the requests became harder to fill, and traced the outlines of darker personal dramas: Medication for heart failure. Paediatric epilepsy drugs. Pills to trigger an abortion. Gas masks.

And things were still somehow getting worse. The first time I saw people line up outside the bakery near my apartment, I stopped to take photos. How crazy: A literal bread line. Then true hunger crept into where I lived. People started digging through the trash at all hours, pulling out vegetable peelings and soggy pizza crusts and eating them on the spot. That seemed like rock bottom. Until my local bakery started organising lines each morning, not to buy bread, but to eat trash.

And from a safe distance, our betters speak. 

Being, as you obviously are, a crowd with your boots on, and all collaring the jive, you’ll want to lamp Cab Calloway’s 1939 Hepster Dictionary. 

By all means slide your jib in the comments.

Via Obnoxio. 

Speaking, as we were, of clown-shoe identitarians:   

Update:

Somewhat related, this: 

Act casual, say nothing. || Moonshiner’s cow shoe. || Meanwhile, in Scotland, life goes on as normal. (h/t, Holborn) || I suspect these are bigger than yours. (h/t, Pogonip) || Hey, it’s a job. || Ideal for peeling grapes and then sewing them back in their skins, the Da Vinci robotic surgical system. || Renting pandas. || Chimney pots. || Where did all the sperm go? || Why parents rarely want their children to be artists, part 19. (h/t, Stephen) || This. (h/t, Julia) || That. || Gusty. || Going rogue. || Girth, thickness and ellipticity: On the shapes of eggs. || “The germs which are in the mouth have spoken to a child!” (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || Tristan goes exploring. || Roman roads of Britain. || Ice fishing basics. || Da Vinci’s notebooks. || Sequel of note. || And finally, how to attract a crowd.