These are obviously things created by smelly, brutish men with heavy equipment and scuffed, beat-up tools, men with tattoos, men missing fingers, men with empty PBR cans rolling around in the beds of their pick-up trucks. Men who would rather chew off their own arms than muse dreamily in public about...doilies.
Doily Boy has not a clue what the purpose of these objects is. All I know is, they mock me. "How are you ever going to become a real man, Doily Boy," they shout, "if you don't even know what blocks of concrete imbedded in the ground are for?" "For God's sake, pipe down!" I respond. "There are people around!" And it's true, there was a guy sitting in a bus kiosk just feet away, watching me straddle these mute objects and take pictures of them. I looked up at him, and he just shook his head sadly and turned away. They know. They all know.
Want to see it bigger? Yeah, I bet you do. Here.