I've seen my share of gnarly Cushmans in my day, but Trouser Trout Records' ride clearly takes the cake.

Update: Also check out the faux-police Interceptor that Beej spotted last week.

Whoa, someone is just slightly mad at a 22nd St. tree killer.  Don't get me wrong, I like trees.  No, no, I love trees.  They make great bike racks.  But I'd argue that killing a tree is much, much worse than killing a kitten.  The death of a tree affects us all.  Killing a kitten just results in a few less JPG lulz and a slight increase in office productivity, you dick.

All I wanted to do yesterday was ravage a black bean burger and drink some generic-yet-strikingly-sexy American beer; so I rolled into Bender’s and was immediately confronted by some Fernet-sponsored afternoon sideshow.  Yahweh clearly wasn’t going to be parting the sea of scenesters covered in red stage lighting for me, so opted to hang out in the back making fleeting hand-grabbing motions at the unplugged pinball machine.  Then I spotted the scene below.  Front row at an indie-row concert: this poor dog had ‘teh fear’ in his eyes.  The owner even attempted to cover the dog’s ears when their fashion-accessory became visibly unsettled.  It didn’t work but the. show. must. go. on.

I guess this is what it takes to be cool in the authenticity arms race?