The Island of Misfit Pictures

The rise of digital photography has resulted in a veritable glut of photos which may never see the light of day, eternally condemned to the confines of ones' own hard drive. Oftentimes, these pictures may seek release, through blogs, photo web sites, or other methods. The rejected, nay, the unchosen few may seek comfort in numbers, banding together, uniting in darkness, seeking only expression through some viable means.. Like this posting, analgous to the Island of Misfit Toys (tm), I thee present, the aforementioned Island of Misfit Pictures. *















September brought about mine own birthday, and the arrival of Shitler, aka Pilar, the new kitten..














.. Who amused us all with her first shit (in our litterbox)!! Note the Miller Lite cap to scale (and first piss, if you look closely to the right. Go ahead. I know you want to.)

I also wanted to point out my prowess in photographing signs out of the passenger seat of a moving vehicle as I drove through the Mojave from Las Vegas back to San Diego..














Pretty! Deserty! Mountainous!















.. And this one.. Gallery worthy.














Analgous to the choices we must make, such as Baker, Barstow, or Los Angeles...















..We must also decide between Pleasure, Poetry (ahem Conde Nast), and Philosophy..














..Putting on airs debonair..














.. Debauched..














... Debased..















.. Or sewing one's own cartoonish musical oats..



















.. Pining for the glories of yesteryear**...

















.. And letting everybody know what's going on down below.

* Also known as mailing in a post with old, rejected pictures.
** (My official entry for the New Sincerity contest - Point Guard of the New Sincerity, James "Mookie" Wright, former University of Colorado star, straight outta Compton, CA . Sadly, he was not among the winners.)

Strong Ale Festival

Greetings Ladies of America!














I know, I've heard it before. Never has your soul been pierced by such furiously passionate eyes. My friend here? He's actually gazing into your third eye; he seeketh thine inner truth. You see, we aim to please on a spiritual level as well. I know I don't have to tell you this, because I can tell by your impatient fidgeting and constant looking around for help that you're feeling our throbbing love vibe. The line starts to the left.

Oh, Silly me! Je m'excuse! That's actually the line for the Strong Ale Festival.














Where none of the over 60 beers (and cask conditioned ales) on tap are less than 8 percent alcohol.













.. Leading to scenes like this.














After being designated driver from Solana Beach, Corey became designated drinker extroardinaire, leading to his (upon arrival home) passing out first.

And we all know what happens to bitches who pass out first.














You stack a bunch of shit on 'em.














Left hand bravely flailing, Corey battles to regain control of the coverage of his corpus, but the furious stacking continues; strong ale, amply fueling his assailants, burning coarsely within.














No, not the kitten too! STOP! You'll KILL the man!














Abu Ghraib, you have found a peer in terror.




GREETINGS FROM HELL!















"I come, Graymalkin!"















Fair is foul and foul is fair..













Hover through the fog and filthy air.

When The Cat's Away.. Fuck.

Great News!

Just found out today!

My house mate watches porn on my laptop!

.. And I swear the letter "k" is not working properly..

. And I know it's not a fucking coincidence.

.. 'Tis a fate I endure. Hiterto, unbeknownst to myself, said camarade de chambre (actually a house mate, but similar level of trust implicit in either description) watched special films whilst I toiled throughout the day .

Quand le chat est parti les souris dansent.

His explanation a very missal on the claimless ways of modernity.

"It's the only DVD player that works in the house."

I will now make sure to shut down and always password protect shit, for I have learned what things may pass, confronted with the debased nature of my fellow man. With mine own ears, I have heard the shrieking howl for mercy from the harpys of dusk; their bemoaned fates no longer painful in the face of destiny mine. I know and am forsaken for the path that I now walk, whether chosen, pre-ordained the question moot..

These truths I verily know.

And the letter "K" knows only darkness.

Greatest. Halloween. Costume. EVER.

My roommate, Mr. C. Ellsworth A., the fully functional GOLDEN SHOWER.

















It's got valves. It's gold. There's a shower curtain. AND IT IS FULLY FUNCTIONAL.

In order to achieve such functionality, there's step 1: Fill the shower.


















Step 2: Put on the golden suit of darkness. Pose with other roommate (the good lady Abigail).



















Step 3: Flip the switch, fill the pitcher with thine own fluids.





















.. All the way.













Lather. Rinse. Repeat.


The night passed comfortably until, in a cataclysmic halloween moment, women as far away as Latvia, and, daresay Estonia began to feel a slight, indefinable sense of.. sad unrest.. as..

















..THE GOLDEN SHOWER MEETS THE FRESHLY WAXED BOX.


Wait, what's that? Sorry? Oh, MY costume. Surely I would not withhold such important information, especially from YOU, Dear Reader.

I waivered between the now deceased Yassir Arafat,



















.. oftentime indulging my L. Ron Hubbard side..



















.. All the while partying with rock stars..


















.. Being an illicit defiler of pumpkins..















.. Oftentimes merely witnessing their debased defilement..














.. Practitioner of ancient "Drunken cheek-to- chest" kung fu stylings..


















.. And Private Dancer... A Dancer for money..

















Do what you want me to do.