The only collective noun possible. I hate cherubs, hate their fat little bodies that no wings could possibly get off the ground, hate the mawkish sentimentality that they represent in a period where poverty was so high and infant mortality even higher. So I did not take pictures of the ubiquitous things until I could no longer help myself due to their ridiculousness. It could well be the result of the concupiscence of adult statues that fills Prague
These are quite hilarious, and in spite of myself possibly endearing, in their silly state on either side of a grandiose balcony:
Some more
And even more
An explosion of them in seemingly unconnected pieces from what seems like the very mouth of hell on the side of a church:
The worst is that our excursion into the Savarin Palace to visit the Museum of Communism revealed there are as many inside these Baroque monstrosities as there are outside:
And they didn’t stop with the Baroque, disturbingly enough:
This is only a slight taste of the cherub flesh surrounding you at all times, but I’ll leave you with a couple of more tasteful pictures that give a glimpse of the city, as I haven’t yet done that!
