Crappletree Farms

There's a development in Newtown that I often pass when driving to my beloved buffalo chicken salad at Isaac Newton's (ed: shit, now I'm hungry for said salad). It's one of those McMansion neighborhoods that have usurped most of the farmland in lower Bucks County in recent years. I hate those developments on a number of levels: the rape of the land, the energy-burning wastefulness of houses that size, the garish ugliness of the facades, and the toolboxes who choose to live there. On top of all that these luxe-ghettos are anointed with some of the most ridiculous-sounding names on the planet. In this particular case the subdivision is called Cricklewood Green. Cricklewood Green, people. WTF?

I often wonder how these names are chosen. Do they go to a branding expert? Do they study maps of the UK and pull the most obnoxiously British-sounding hamlets in England? Or do they just throw a bunch of words in a pot and let the wife of the contractor pick one from column A and one from column B? Maybe they use this? If there truly exists a position like this, it seems like it'd be a pretty cush gig with lots of creative leverage. So without further ado, I'd like to officially throw my hat into the ring for the job of Chief McMansion Development Namer for Toll Brothers.^

Peckerwood Junction
The Villas at Dingleberry Corner
Wankchester Hills
Land Rover Acres
I Can't Afford My Mortgage Commons
Twatwaffle Ranch
Lapflounder Landing
Far Cry from Bed-Stuy (in the beautiful Poconos!)
Carbon Footprint Creek
Ayn Rand Run
Syphilis Crossing
Addicted to Internet Porn Manor
Bridgecrossing Ranch Estates at Junction Run
Yuppie Meadows
Douchebag Terrace
The Lakes at Secretly BiCurious
Shitbucket Hollows
Assclown Court
Maclaren Estates

and my favorite, from the Keeper of Lists: Former Indian Burial Ground.

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^Buddy went to private school with the scion (scioness?) of the Toll Brothers fortune. Said the parents were hippie assholes who smoke too much weed and spend money like it's going out of style. The daughter was like them but worse, treating anyone in her orbit like positive shit. Bucks County's own little Paris Hilton, apparently. So when large glass panes started falling off their East Village abomination into Third Avenue last year halting construction and igniting a flurry of lawsuits, I secretly smiled and reminded myself that karma is indeed a bitch.