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Tom Toles
Posted at 08:00 AM ET, 05/23/2011


I’m sure you’ve been wondering about the Black Box of Doom. This is the actual physical locus of dread in my life. Now it is difficult to maintain a sense of dread in the merry merry month of May. Things are good in May. It all seems to make sense in May. The days are long and getting longer. Flowers bloom. Elves and faeries frolic amongst them. I frolic amongst the elves and faeries. But then...

Then I go down into to bowels of the Farragut North Metro Station and there it is again. Still. Always. The Black Box of Doom. The plywood Room that Looms. Squarely in the middle of the passenger platform it sits. And GROWS. It has recently DOUBLED in size and now is REPRODUCING. It has now bred SECOND box, that has swallowed an escalator. The BBoD purports to be fixing the ceiling, but the ceiling all around it is losing tiles in a way that gives Chicken Little newfound credibility.

All it needs is a low bass-like slow-vibrating thrum of sound to complete its mission to make me surrender to the dark side and accept that America cannot have public transportation or livable cities or civilization. Dis-May.

By  |  08:00 AM ET, 05/23/2011

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