Long Haired Freaky People Need Not Apply

During our travels, I've always taken many pictures of signs that catch my eye.  These cover all sorts of signs, including those that remind of notable places, those that explain and, of course, those that amuse.  Such amusement can be from mangled English, but more often in these parts comes from the typically British or Irish phraseology employed. An example of the latter are the ubiquitous "Traffic Calming Ahead" signs encountered on the way into most towns, warning the motorist to find the break pedal to avoid an incident involving the equally ubiquitous traffic cameras.  An example of the former, also without a photo, was from a trip many years ago to an extremely small Greek Island, where its one taverna lured English speaking vistors with a sign advertising "Homely Food."  Wish I still had that picture...

The astute reader will have by now grasped that I'm going to share some pictures of signs. So off we go...

This is from the Waterville Golf Links in Cty. Kerry, and tells the story of how the construction of the golf course accommodated a spot that had historical significance for local residents.  A simple hole name on the scorecard would not have done it justice.

I had never previously heard the term Social Tee, but it's a delightfully urbane way of telling the hacks which way to proceed.

This one is for Lowell, who takes perverse pleasure in the idea that the Garden of Eden is a cul de sac. 

Sometimes the signs invoke a somber note...  This one is from Ballycastle, the large town near where Theresa's Mom was born.

I must admit that it took me a moment to recognize the logic of the business strategy.

This sign offers an amazing level of precision to the motorist.

Do we think the other zebras make fun of their humped brethren?

This lack of sensitivity to the plight of the elderly on the part of Theresa is just shameful

Gia Forakis, call your office.  We passed through this Donegal village on our route to Ballyliffin.

Fortunately this was espied in Buncrana, Donegal, and not in the West Village.

Perhaps my favorite sign of all time, from the basement of the Slieve Donard Hotel in Newcastle, Northern ireland.  The joke is an acknowledgement of the profound snootiness of the Royal County Down membership and officials dealing with visitors.  It's one of the few places that makes it clear that they only tolerate visitors, but then again it's thought by many to be the best and most spectacularly beautiful golf course in the world.  Still, we're amused by the order of destinations, aren't we?

 Exit Question:  Who can place the reference in the post title?  C'mon now, most of you are old enough to remember...