If there’s one thing the people like more than censorship, it’s colons.

While killing time at Greenwood’s Diva Espresso the other night, I picked up a copy of a free north end coffee-themed newsletter (the entire stack of Strangers had been removed from the shop, following a “this is raping my child’s innocence” complaint about you-know-which cover) and was blindsided by this piece of grammatical smut:

What bewilders me the most? Is it the excruciatingly constipated punniness? The bizarre respelling of “time”? Lady liberty and her supersonic beacon of colonic hope? That apostrophe??

Or is it the implication that a fully-clothed adult groin is somehow pornographic, but a direct public address to my bowels is totes child-friendly? Okay, then. Have a Ballardian forcibly launder your child’s back passage, but never, ever let the kid look at a picture of underpants. It’s your parental duty.