Microlawns.

Rare shot of an original Keep Off The Grass sign, possibly from across the pond judging by the Gill Sans-ian typography. All microlawns small enough to earn the exclusive title once featured such snooty warnings, until the garden gnomes willed themselves tall enough to uproot every last one of them in a 60-day rage against income inequality between the swarthy and the “lankies,” presaging today’s #OWS by centuries.

Unwittingly submitted by ecco via Metafilter.

The smallest microlawn ever—only 1 inch across—yet planet-huge to the concrete termites that call it home. They return there at sunrise, exhausted and in great pain after a long day of carving out the world’s sidewalk cracks and painstakingly christening each with a unique curse upon completion.

From Narrow Streets: Los Angeles, my other silly photo blog in which I squeeze down streets I think are too big. This was from a trip to Vegas.

Another “welcome mat” style lawn, 2 feet square, with helpful concrete grooves for cracking open Brazil nuts, slap-washing tea-stained head scarves, or both.

Unexpectedly erotic mons pubis form, measuring 3 feet across, deemed so provocative that Its location has been hidden by the Censors. Shield your childrens’ eyes if you come across it, for they will sprout breasts, chest hair, and groping hands; they will leave your motherly and fatherly embraces; they will embark on adventures you will never be privy to. Ever.

Pound-cake style specimen, matching both the weight and size of its namesake. Underneath, however, is found not wax paper but a village of glassy white grubs worshipping a small leather door which leads to the dark, endless underground ocean containing the Ghosts of Flushed Pets.

Half-trapezoid, barely 2 feet long. Far too small to warrant the extravagance of having its own dedicated exhaust port (or peat inflation input, difficult to tell), but that’s porkbarrel tax spending for you, isn’t it.

Twin lawns, each 2 feet across, separated for all eternity by a vicious curbcut built to appease a giantess obsessed with oversized push-scooters. She died with tears streaming down her cheeks after years of never having quite fit in with the rest of society.

Lawn strip, 1 foot wide, once favored by a sunbathing python—Lenny, deathly allergic to salt water—until curiosity got the best of him and he decided to find out what lay at the other end of the storm drain. He was never heard from again. Hence the warning.

Another welcome mat, 3 feet long, patiently awaiting the arrival of night and its concomitant population of warm-bodied cats who arrive one by one to sprawl out and secretly form Roman letters with their lithe bodies: T-W-I-L-I-G-H-T. M-O-O-N-S-O-N-G. P-A-G-E-A-N-T.