Etsy Shop for Appledale

The Goldbricker

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:53 -0500

$17.00
Giraffe did something stupid back in ’87. This something was so stupid that the stupidity of it all landed him in the back of a paddy wagon, with a gang of hobos picked up for thieving milk from tipped cows. Giraffe’s corneas were searing from the teargas. Giraffe done deserved that though, seein’ he done something so stupid in the first place.

In time, that Giraffe found himself apart of a chain gang, digging ditches along a deserted stretch of highway. Some folk say the ditches had
something to do with irrigation, but my pop always told us he was certain the warden was lookin’ for somethin’. Bones, teeth, some kind of people
remnant.

Giraffe told pop he always imagined that if he were on a chain gang, he’d be equipped with one of those litter spears. Not a rusted shovel. He also didn’t imagine that he would really be chained to the other prisoners, and darn if that didn’t make for some awkward moments. Like when Jimmy Sardine would whip out his manhood and start wackin’ the everlovin’ shit out of that fucker.

The way pop tells it, Giraffe thought that he might have just enough slack in his share of chain to reach the relaxin' floral chair that the warden lugged out that day from his office, where he sat on his pimply ass, shouting out racial epithets to the various hues of the incarcerated. But after tearin’ up three beef and bean burritos doused with a heavy blanket of Tabasco sauce, the warden found himself scampering off to pinch a runny loaf behind an abandoned bait shop a quarter mile away. Pop says Giraffe waited until the warden was nothing more than a red blob on the horizon before shuffling over to the chair. He just reached it.

But Giraffe, he ain’t careful enough. That warden came back, soiled gutchies and all, and caught him goldbricking in that pretty floral armchair, and suddenly, Giraffe wasn’t so much digging them ditches as he was decomposing in one.

Size: 8x8
Location: McKees Rocks, PA
Taken with a medium format Holga.

2 Notable Things

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:53 -0500

$18.00
There was nothing special about the way Janet Boxstein ate a bowl of bran cereal with skim milk every morning, or that every morning she said hello to Mr. Jenkins in 6G on her way out to get the paper. There was nothing notable about the route she took to work, the same route every day, past Swanson’s Hosiery House and through the dark alley between the Swedish bakery and the dog pound, the same route she had been taking for the past 789 days (except during the pickling plant flood of 2005, when she was forced to hitch a ride with a cow mover).

There was also nothing notable about Janet’s vocation. She worked in the cellar of a corking factory, shredding documents and sweeping mice shit into the dank corners and behind towering stacks of bankers boxes. She wore non-descript khaki slacks and an aged white blouse. Nothing stood out about the way she wore her black curls and her handwriting was ordinary, like Times New Roman.

No one noticed her as she crouched on the floor every afternoon, nibbling on her standard fare of tuna on rye and cocktail weiners in a cabbaged marinade; and no one noticed her as she blended into the stampede of rush hour every day when the five o’clock alarm sent peals of dismissal through the factory.

There was nothing notable about the way she moved her head to the homogenized brand of Celine Dion-stylized music that filtered through her head phones, and nothing to note about the generic cans of corn and coffee that filled her wobbly-wheeled cart at the small corner mart.

None of the neighbors noticed the thumping when Janet returned to her apartment every night and kicked aside stray limbs protruding from the pile of corpses in her sitting room, or the hollow bang when she pounded on her TV for better reception. None of the neighbors noticed the smell of burnt toast that wafted underneath her door every time she made a midnight snack, or the stench of corroded brain matter that festered in large jugs stopped with cork which she pocketed from work.

But one notable thing about Janet was that she built a ladder to the top of the Eiffel Tower out of spinal columns.

And that she loved to flamenco.

Size: 8x10
Location: Coulter, Pennsylvania
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Arcadia

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:20 -0500

$15.00
Every time I look at this photo, I start scribbling a dozen stories inside my head. Verdigris at its finest.

Size: 8x8
Taken with a Diana.

It's a Church.

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:20 -0500

$15.00
The photo you are viewing is a church in Uniontown, Pennsylvania.

OR IS IT.

Sure it has a dome crafted of heavenly gold and it's topped with a cross so fine it would make God blush. But what if, underneath it all, something is going on in the basement. Passed stacks of ratty Bibles, folding chairs, and moth-chewed altar robes, what if there was some serious business underway? Some hardcore rosary action, perhaps?

A ROSARY SWEATSHOP. Oh, that's right, you heard it here first. You have no money to spare for this Sunday's collection basket? Then down the factory you go, where the ushers strap your knees to a pew and force your fingers to string one cent rose-colored beads, one after the other after the other after the other, until gaudy rosaries are fashioned and then sold for ten times their worth to old women on religious retreats. And then your fingers are bleeding and your knees feel arthritic and you're cussing yourself out for leaving your damn check book at home.

Church doesn't seem so innocent now, does it.
______________________________________________________
This photo was taken with a plastic lens camera and is printed professionally on 8x8 metallic paper. The photographer has not actually seen the basement.

Praying for Rain

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:20 -0500

$15.00
Giraffe and Monkey feel foolish to admit it, but they love wiling away sunny days by pirouetting beneath a bright parasol. When people stop to gawk, eyebrows arched quizzically, Giraffe and Monkey duck behind the umbrella and pretend to be performing a highly spirtiual prayer for rain. After the judgemental bystanders retreat, ashamed at their intrusion, Giraffe and Monkey queue up Kajagoogoo and twirl til they spew their morning porridge.

Size: 8x8

I can make this in 5x5, 10x10, and 12x12 also!

Even Giraffes Contemplate

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:20 -0500

$18.50
Size: 8x10
Location: Jefferson Memorial, Pennsylvania

Digital photo printed on high quality metallic paper.

Circling Crow 5x5

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:19 -0500

$10.00
Taken in Uniondale Cemetery in Pittsburgh. Watermark (from my other shop) not included, I promise.

If you would like a different size, please convo me!

Perfect for a Picnic 8x8 Holga image

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 22:41:19 -0500

$15.00
So there might be some human bones trying to mingle with the chicken bones. Didn't you bring enough for everyone?

Size: 8x8
Location: Homewood Cemetery, Pittsburgh
Taken with a Holga.
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Garden Theater, Pittsburgh's North Side 8x8 black and white Holga

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 13:37:50 -0400

$15.00
This is a photograph of the Garden Theater in Pittsburgh's North Side. It was taken with a Holga, on 120 b&w film.

I have my prints sent out to a professional printer to ensure the finest quality, so please allow a 7-10 day turnaround.

This is printed on metallic paper. For other sizes, please feel free to convo me!

Viva la Tombstone 8x8 Holga photograph on metallic paper

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 11:51:48 -0400

$15.00
Taken just outside of Pittsburgh, PA, using a Holga.

Cemeteries are so beautiful to me, and the only thing that makes them even prettier in my eyes is a plastic lens.

Please convo me for other sizes!

If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Hooray for Horsies, and clouds are cool too

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 11:41:18 -0400

$15.00
The sight of horses on a hill make me want to pitch all of my belongings in a dumpster and squat in an abandoned farm. And then after two days, I'll go into shock from lack of computer screen glare and come running back to the city.

Still, this photo reminds me of what could have been.

Size: 8x8
Location: Round Hill Farm, PA.
Taken with a Holga.
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Coming Down to Cut You Open

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 11:41:18 -0400

$15.00
It won't hurt if you close your eyes.

(It will hurt. It will hurt so bad you'll lose control of your bowels.)

Size: 8x8
Location: Uniontown, PA
Taken with Holga using 120 film.
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Cerulean Entrance

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:52:52 -0400

$18.50
Sometimes in the midst of the most downtrodden neighborhoods, a door effervesces with so much character and charm that you almost want to stay awhile.

Size: 8x10
Location: McKees Rocks, PA
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Have a seat, 8x10

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:52:52 -0400

$20.00
Take your pick.

Size: 8x10
Location: McKees Rocks, PA

Coulterville Church

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:52:51 -0400

$18.00
There is a town outside of Pittsburgh called Coulterville, and in that town is a series of kinks in a road known widely as Thirteen Bends. Of course, Thirteen Bends does not come without a million variations of an urban legend, mostly surrounding an orphanage that perished in a fire.

But also in Coulterville, tucked away off a deadend lane is a small cemetery that spills down into an abandoned church. The few times I've visited this church, I've felt uneasy, scared, paranoid. But the last time I was there, an older man arrived with his wife and they got down to planting some flowers along the tombstones. Turns out it's his family plot. He gave me a very boring history of the church, stressing, of course, the fact that it's not haunted.

He was a nice man and all, but I still like to believe that some serious Satan worshipping goes on inside that bitch at night.
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Size: 8x8 on true b&w paper
Taken with a Holga
Convo me for other size options!

Owls and a Red Dress

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:52:08 -0400

$18.00
Wouldn't it be awesome if you could model in a mirror and have a collection of wall-bound owls hooting out superlatives in your face?

"That dress is a ten!"

"Shake yo' ass, sista!"

"That red complements your skin tone. Can I buy you a beer?"

Size: 8x10
Location: Zenith Tea Room, Pittsburgh
___________________________________________________
If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Pignaceous

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:52:08 -0400

$15.00
I was fourteen when I met Pignaceous. I remember that because it was the day after I got my period. Mama says, "Darlene, you a woman now. Those boys at school are gon' smell that on you so you best keep those legs closed, missy!"

It was a humid day, that day I met the pig, and I was walking home from school. Now, on these walks home, I always got to pass the bus depot. Lots of unsavory characters loitered outside, flicking ashes and wagging their tongues at me; but on this one day in particular, this humid day, a pig-man stepped away from all those derelicts and offered up his hankie so that I may mop my sweaty brow.

I thanked him. He tipped his hat to me. Turns out Pignaceous, that was the name he gave me, was a sheriff over in a Hawaiian town. Said that damn town got drowned in piping hot lava, all the way from the post office right down to the tobacco store.

Next thing I know, Pignaceous is walking home with me.

Next thing I know after that, Pignaceous is eating supper with my folks and me.

And next thing I know after all that, I'm waking up to find Pignaceous eating my folks for breakfast.

Now, I don't mind so much, not like you'd think. See, Ma - well, she been known to swat my behind with a wooden spoon. 'Specially now that Mother Nature made me into a Woman. She's just certain I'm gon' go and get myself knocked up by some boy on the AV squad, even though I been telling her time after time that those boys don't look at anything that don't got a hard drive and a CRT glare.

And see, Pa - well, he been known to get good and drunk and leave his boot prints on my behind from time to time. 'Specially if I be forgettin' to pack his pipe before he gets home from work.

So see, I don't mind so much to see that fuckin' pig tearing away the flesh from their bones like us country folk eatin' barbeque ribs on the Fourth.

Now, Pignaceous, he DOES mind. He's worried I'm gon' turn him in, ruin his hearty morning eats. But I say to him, "Pig, you listen here. I fuckin' hate my folks. You want to ravage their flesh? Be my guest. Can I get you the Ketchup?"
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This photo captures the creepiness that can only be found in a vintage Sheriff Pig. Give him your change before he serves you up at the next Hawaiian- style Person Roast.

Who doesn't enjoy a nice luau?

This photo measures 8x8. It is printed professionally on fine quality metallic paper

Signed, Sally (Sadly) 8x8 holga print on metallic paper

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:13:04 -0400

$15.00
Pig wasn't invited to the party. Pig has an underground arsenal under her hut. Pig'll make them sorry.

Size: 8x8
Taken with a Holga using b&w 120 film.
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Sally should not have been surprised when she was turned away at the door.

“But I was invited!” she insisted, coffee-stained invitation curved around the womb of her hands. She held it up to the man’s face, pulling it taut so he could see that her name, in adolescent lower-case, was penciled in at the top. Her name, it was there! Her name was right there next to the day-old coffee splash that looked like Hitler; right there, preceeding the typed words IS INVITED.

Laughter flitted from the bowels of the banquet hall. He flicked the invitation, knocking it loose from Sally’s grip and slamming the door in her snout. “No pigs invited!” she heard several revelers shout in unison, followed by more hideous laughter. “Pig’ll eat all the food!” The cruel heckling made the bile effervesce within Sally. For a brief moment, she could taste its sour flavor as it burned against her uvula. She swallowed it.

She tried to swallow the hideous laughter, too.

Fifty-three minutes later, Sally sat in her parked car at a truck stop just a few miles outside of town. She numbly nibbled on the sandwich that was handed to her through a window by an androgynous teen with a snarled upper lip, Sally’s own pout puckering involuntarily as her tongue moved over a spot of bread, moist from pickle sweat. Choking back a sloppy slurp of lemonade, Sally cried out bitterly, “I belong no where!” She groped in the darkness of her car, until her fingers eventually came up with a pen.

"You might not know it yet but you will be sorry. Sorry for slamming doors in my face, for flushing my poems down the commode. You will be sorry for not letting me carole with you that one Christmas in 1987."

As a child, Sally was invited to parties only because her father was the principal; parents used her spot on birthday guest lists to keep their own slovenly spawn from flunking out of third grade. And Sally, so full of jubilance, would put on her best Laura Ashley, and she would step into her best Mary Janes, and she would wrap the present in the best foiled paper. And last, she would pull on her rubber pig mask.

In front of her father, all the kids would chant “Oh Sally’s here! Oh, Sally, Sally, Sally!” But then the door would shut behind her and her father and his little green car would be a dot on the horizon.

"You might not know it yet, but you will see that my headgear did not define me; that my stutter was not a reason to make me a cafeteria pariah. You might not know it yet, but my halitosis was bearable under the supervision of Altoids."

And then it was, “Oops, Sally, I didn’t mean to tear your dress” [as Mary Misslegap swiped at the silken floral with a boxcutter] and “Uh oh, Sally’s having her period!” [courtesy of Agatha Angelfuck pollacking her with Heinz] and “Sorry, Sally, there’s no cake left for you” [as Tommy Wettail smeared it on her face like paste, snapping her bra for the cherry on top]. And there would be that hideous laughter again. Sally would swallow that hideous laughter and go home.

"You might not know it yet, but you will realize that I had things to say, ideas to share, if you could have only seen past my muffin top, past my cleft palate. You will realize that the brown stain on my white trousers in Spanish class senior year was mud, not shit from my own self."

And even after all of that, Sally was willing to give her old peers a second chance when the invitation arrived that day. YARDLY GREEN HIGH SCHOOL’S TENTH REUNION it said in an elegant script. Sally, who had too much hope for humanity, was anxious to show off her poker straight teeth and Kathy Lee knock-off. But Sally, whose better judgement raped her thoughts with reality, couldn’t help but falter in her step when she arrived at the hotel that night.

"You might not know it yet, but I don’t care about your Better Homes and Garden wedding. And I don’t care your child was born with Downs Syndrome. And I don’t care about how you feel about me. Not anymore."

Sally should have known she was only invited as entertainment, one more lashing for the social reject. It was just like grade school, only now the cruelty was liquor-enhanced. Sally should have known there would be no punch-drinking and name tag-wearing for her that night. But now, parked next to a rocking eighteen-wheeler with frosted windows, Sally knew; and soon they would too.

"You might not know it yet, but I am unable to swallow that hideous laughter.You might not know it yet, but I was really fucking good at Chemistry."

Sally had just added the final flourish to her signature when her pen bled its last drop of ink. Sally folded the coarse brown napkin she had been writing on and, peeled off the pig mask, and with a forceful stab to her carotid, she used the sanguine ink to scrawl ATTENTION: ALL OF MY WORST CRITICS on the top of the note.

And that is exactly what a mulletted trucker in a camo vest was reading, coagulated in blood and pickle juice from a half-eaten Hoagie Hocker sub, when the bomb went off at that hotel with the hideous laughter.

You Can't See Me photo

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:05:19 -0400

$15.00
Rabbit is distacted by the sweet bouquet of wildflowers as she cowers from the hunters. Don't get your face shot off, OK Rabbit?

Size: 8x10

Lovely Cross Holga photo

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:05:19 -0400

$18.00
The owner of this modest grave marker probably spends eternity haunting rich people to overcompensate for their less-than-grand tombstone. Who needs an Italian marble crypt, anyway?

Size: 8x10
Taken with a Holga using b&w 120 film.

Wall Perching

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:05:18 -0400

$18.50
Giraffe takes a break from grazing in the cemetery to sit atop the murky waters.

Size: 8x10
Location: Jefferson Memorial, Pennsylvania

Printed on high quality metallic paper. If another size is desired, convo me and I'd be happy to make a custom listing for you.

Granny's Got a Secret 8x10 black and white metallic photograph

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 13:29:00 -0400

$20.00
Granny might bake a mean apple pie, but in the cloaked veil of shadows, she feasts on feral cats. Your face might be next.

This is a digital art photograph, perfect to give your walls an added punch during the Halloween season, or hang it year-round for a haunting conversation piece.

I have my photographs printed at a professional lab, so please allow 7-10 days turnaround time. And if there is another size you're interested in, don't hesitate to shoot me a convo!

Thanks, and keep those walls haunted!

(Also available in color in a separate listing.)

Granny's Got a Secret 8x10 metallic photograph

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 13:26:08 -0400

That F'n Denim Jacket 8x8 digital pig mask photo

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 19:33:11 -0400

$15.00
“Barbara.”

He said it with a strained tone, the kind of tone someone uses when they’re trying to downplay an arthritis flare-up. Barbara was growing accustomed to the taut, cold tinge plaguing Larry’s voice these days. She guessed it was the stress of his job weighing down on him. Barbara didn’t turn around, didn’t stray her eyes from the cross-stitch in her lap.

“Barbara, do you love me?”

The tension was tighter now in his voice. It was never like that in the beginning, when Barbara loved Larry. He spoke with warmth and tenderness, back when Barbara loved him. She supposed there was still love there, as much love as there could be after thirteen years of marriage and countless bland dinners endured with the absence of words, scraping knifes and slurped milk serving as the soundtrack. Her mother had taught her that you love your husband no matter how many shades of lip-prints you’re made to remove from his work shirts, no matter how many hotel receipts you pull from his pockets before washing.

“Barbara, answer me! Do. You. Love. Me.”

When was the last time they had said those words to each other, Barbara wondered. It used to be the punctuation at the end of every phone call, the last words mumbled in bed after a long day. She supposed Larry knew, or at least suspected, of her long-going tryst with her boss. Barbara was never very good at lying. When she was fourteen, she stole a pack of Lucky Strikes from the gas station. Later that night, she couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from curling up when her father asked her where she had gotten the money for it, as she crouched behind the shed in the backyard, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from her strawberry glossed lip, a handful of cherry Pop Rocks coagulating with the sweat of her palm. Barbara could still see the sticky cerise streak she slimed onto the sleeve of her denim jacket. Barbara could still see her mother in the laundry room, scrubbing the pink from the denim jacket, scrubbing the pink from her father’s work shirts.

“Barbara.”

Barbara, back when her mother had schooled her on marriage, never fathomed that it would be her lipstick on a man’s collar. Never imagined it would be her back rubbing against the scratchy wool of a brown and taupe highway motel comforter. Barbara’s mother told her about wives straying; it was always the husbands.

A shrill giggle purged from Larry’s throat just then, some kind of hysteric laughter reserved for a clown who leaves a child’s birthday party and returns to his basement apartment to feast on the thigh of his last victim. The giggle froze Barbara in her seat, the giggle made the cross stitch slide from Barbara’s knees.

“Barbara, look behind you.”

When Barbara was twelve, she went to a haunted house with some of her friends from school. She didn’t want to go, she remembered her friends needling away at her, calling her names and clucking their tongues, until she finally shrugged into her jacket and followed them out the door. The haunted house was set up in the old school house and was being run by the YMCA. Costumed volunteers with fake blood seeping from their eyes, noses, mouths exploded from corners and hidden holes in the walls. Barbara shuffled and stumbled her way through, grasping onto the shoulders of the person in front of her, when a hoarse voice whispered from behind her. “Look behind you.” Later that night, sipping hot cocoa and hunkering beneath her jacket in the police station, Barbara learned that the figure she saw cloaked in a white sheet, concealing everything but a flaccid penis which was left wagging obscenely through a hole cut at the groin, wasn’t even a YMCA volunteer, just some eclat who had been making his rounds in their county. Probably was abused a lot as a boy, the police man attempted to reason.

“Look behind you, Barbara.”

Larry’s tone was hard, callous, his voice cracked when he said her name. She detected something more than anger in his command, something more like madness. Barbara wondered again if Larry knew, if the knowledge of her affair had him straddling the fringe of lunacy.

Something heavy and orb-like hit the ground next to her feet with a wet thud, spraying the carpet with a glistening red substance. It reminded her of that denim jacket she bought in ‘87. The acid-washed jean jacket with the neon paint splattered across the back. A Rod Stewart pin gave the right shoulder flair, and she had had her mother sew a Debbie Gibson patch onto the breast of the jacket. Teresa Oster tried to rip that patch off one day on the bus, in a fit of hair-tugging and face-scratching. Everyone knew that Teresa loved Chad Brown, but Chad loved Barbara and had even given her a jelly bracelet. That night, Barbara had found, in her jacket pocket, one of Teresa’s Lee Press On nails.

“Do you like your present, Barbara?”

The blood on the floor. There was blood on her floor. The blood from her lover’s severed head splashed so artfully across the carpet, It really does look like that denim jacket, Barbara mused out loud. That fucking denim jacket that I wore to that haunted house. Barbara laughed. That fucking haunted house.

“You’re next, Barbara.”

Barbara laughed even harder. She could taste briny rivulets trickling past her lips, wondered if her mascara was leaving streaks, and she laughed harder still. She was still laughing when the hatchet blade plunged into her head, like an hirsute cantaloupe, shattering her skull with a sickening crunch. As she looked down at the crimson splashes on her cross stitching, she wondered what ever happened to that fucking denim jacket.

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This photo measures 8x8. It is printed professionally on fine quality metallic paper, so please allow for a 7-10 day turnaround.

This can also be printed as a 5x5, 10x10, 12x12.

Afternoon Debate 8x8 lomography print on metallic paper

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 19:33:11 -0400

$15.00
Monkey yammers on about the merits of the Club ("People back away in horror when they see the Club jutting off the steering wheel of my Jalopy!") but Giraffe is all, "How can I care about the saftey of your crapulous car when a new episode of The Hills is on tonight?"

Size: 8x8
Taken with a Diana+.

Trudy Stufflebean in the Monkey Seat

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 00:13:22 -0400

$15.00
Boy was it going to be the best year ever for Trudy Stufflebean. 1962 and Trudy was a perky blond girl of 23, she was going to ride her big boobs and blazing white smile all the way to the big city. 1962 and she was finally about to bust out of small town living, leave her family’s hog farm in a cloud of dust as she sped off on the back of her boyfriend’s Harley, black leather seat stuffed intimately into her crotch.

It was the summer of 1962 and Trudy could picture this, the twilight Harley getaway, as she sat atop a duffel bag overstuffed with hot pants and tube tops, hair spray and romance novels to be read under the dim lamplight of salacious highway motels.

1962 was going to be the last year that Trudy waded around up to her thighs in mucous-y muck, refilling the slop in the pig pen while defending herself from horny hogs intent on dry-humping her legs. 1962 and Trudy was going to escape her father’s cracking leather belt and her mother’s swatting wooded spoon and the town drunk’s unzipping pants.

Trudy’s boyfriend Earl was going to come and rescue her, he was going to whisk her away on the back of his Harley and they were going to start a new life in Las Vegas. Earl was going to be a croupier and maybe do some tattoos with the handmade gun he fashioned to emblazon his biker gang with the flaming knife insignia he designed. Earl was proud of that design, he sketched it one day off the top of his head when he was waiting for his daddy to come home from prison.

And Trudy, she was going to be a show girl. She knew all about jutting out her pelvis to make the men in the front row lick their lips. She was looking forward to wearing a real headdress, after practicing for a month with her father’s prized deer antlers, making sure to replace them on the wall when she heard the crunch of his tires on the lane as he returned home from the bar.

That summer night of 1962, Trudy sat on the porch for three hours waiting for the headlights of Earl’s bike to peek over the hill. But Earl never came. He ran off with Holga Swanson instead, because she stole five grand from her lawyer daddy and they ditched his hog for her Mustang convertible. Plus, Holga would touch his asshole with her tongue and didn’t crinkle her nose at the skid marks on his underwear like Trudy always did.

It is now 2008 and Trudy Stufflebean, who has inherited her family’s pig farm and has taken to donning monkey masks on Sundays, has lost the perk in her boobs and the sparkle of her teeth have been masked by a yellowed veneer. Trudy still reads romance novels but no longer struts around in makeshift headdresses. Trudy’s head still snaps when she hears the revving of a motorcycle engine in the distance, she cries when she sees flaming knives; Trudy is still morally opposed to salad tossing. Trudy makes supplemental income by traveling to Wal-Marts, K-marts and Big Lots in the Heartland where she instructs teen girls on tampon insertion and she warns of the horrors of pelvic inflammatory disease — the closest she’ll get to thrusting a sequin-swathed pelvis. Trudy no longer wears hot pants but she still has a camel toe.

Trudy Stufflebean goes home at the end of a long day to replenish the slop in the troughs. Sometimes, Trudy eats some slop too, and no longer cares when the horny hogs hump her leg.

Size: 8x8
Location: McKees Rocks, PA.
Taken with a Holga
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If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Monkey on a Train 8x8

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 00:13:22 -0400

$20.00
Looking for a brain.
And less bumpy terrain.
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Size: 8x8
Location: McKees Rocks, PA
Camera: Holga w/ 120 film

If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Unruly Ivy

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 09:22:51 -0400

$15.00
The only thing living in this house is the monster ivy slithering up the sides like sea serpents, and the ghosts of all the people murdered in the basement.

Size: 8x8
Taken with a Diana.

Monkey on a Train 5x5

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 23:38:00 -0400

$10.00
Looking for a brain.
And less bumpy terrain.
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Size: 5x5
Location: McKees Rocks, PA
Camera: Holga w/ 120 film

If your little heart desires a size other than ones listed, simply convo me and I can make a custom listing for you.

I have my prints made at a professional lab to ensure the best quality, so please allow for a seven-day turnaround. Each photo is printed on Endura Metallic paper which features a unique pearlescent surface, giving it a fantastic three-dimensional feel.

Trudy Stufflebean shrinky dink pendant

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 11:58:49 -0400

$8.00
Yay, Trudy Stufflebean has had a hard life, but she sure is happy to be made into a pendant! Measuring approx. 1"x1", my original Holga photo (sold at appledale.etsy.com) is transferred onto a sheet of shrink plastic and made into a hardened square of wearable art. Unforch, the ribbon chain is not included.

These pendants are sturdy to a degree. Please wear gently and avoid sporting it in the shower or fire hydrant explosion. Thanks!

Goldbricker shrinky dink pendant

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 11:56:46 -0400

$8.00
These pendants are sturdy to a degree. Please wear gently and avoid sporting it in the shower or fire hydrant explosion. Thanks!

This pendant measures approx. 1"x1" and was made by transferring the photo onto a sheet of shrink plastic. The result is a really unique way to wear an artistic photograph!

Unfortunately, I do not offer chains in my shop as of yet.

A Fine Day For Lemons print

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:54:36 -0400

$15.00
One plump lemon was thoughtfully procured by Eddie Orpik, whose live-in strumpet insisted that rubber ball gags tasted like her Uncle Herb’s sweaty taint.

Two lemons spotted with rot were unearthed from the bottom of the pile by Jamison Fitzshittery, who would eat them whole while sitting on the freshly covered graves of his recent slayings.

Three ripe lemons were chosen by Jorge Martinez’s shaking hands, who would squeeze them into his mother’s favorite summer cóctel, a wishful attempt to soften the blow when he later reveals that he’s an el homo.

Four lemons were palmed by a paranoid window saleswoman, the curled rinds of which would be cautiously tucked inside the vents of her car to mask the lingering bouquet of marijuana.

Five lemons went into Mrs. Hunchsnatch’s basket, who was slowly luring her husband to his death bed with a panoply of meringue pies.

Seven lemons were plucked by Sasha Eltsin, who would pair them with oranges to create sacks of didactic citrus to unleash on the gulag unrulies.

Eight lemons filled Mother Bonnie’s basket, who planned on turning the tart fruits into sugared delicacies in order to capture ragtag boxcar kids for her signature stew.

When the sun set, the proprietor gathered the remaining bushel and turned it into fresh ambrosia for his wife, whose decomposing body slumped in a supine pile on a Laura Ashley bedspread. She always did like lemons in her ambrosia.
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Size: 8x8
taken with a Holga

Watchrabbit 5x7 photo

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:54:35 -0400

$15.00
Good luck crossing the threshold without an appointment. It's no coincidence that the last time someone dropped by unannounced, Billy Basketbutt's bloody carcass was found inside a water tower.

Size: 5x7

Please convo me if you prefer another size.

You Chew Like a Cow

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:53:41 -0400

$15.00
If you ever get tired of your family telling you that you chew like a cow, just pack up a nice lunch, maybe toss in some taffy for dessert, and visit your local farm. There, you can eat in peace. You can even chew as much Bazooka Joe as you want and NO ONE WILL CARE.

Hang this photo in your house and embrace your inner cow. Then tell your fam to suck it.
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Taken with a Holga, professionally printed on 8x8 metallic paper.

Umbrella Use No.45 - bird poop blockage

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:53:41 -0400

$15.00
Every time Lion lounges in his favorite seat, a flock of seagulls circle over head and unleash a massive dump in unison. Now Lion props a delicate purple umbrella above his crown. He doesn't care how fey it makes him look; it keeps the runny feces and hair product from coagulating into a helmet.

Size: 8x8
Taken with a medium format Diana+.
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This is printed professionally on the most awesomest, regal metallic paper your eyes have ever eyeballed. I can also have it printed 5x5, 10x10, or 12x12.

We Met in Front of the Garage

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:53:41 -0400

$28.00
Giraffe was on the verge of defenestration. He was five months overdue on his account at the adult video shack, the landlord of his apartment (in the not-so-prime location above an auto body garage) had just nailed an eviction notice to his broken front door, and the Donut Den had retired his favorite peanut butter and grilled cheese-filled breakfast pastry.

On a balmy May afternoon, Giraffe chugged a hearty intake of moonshine before flinging himself out of his second story tenement. He landed in a supine position right next to Monkey, who was waiting patiently for a routine tune up on her Chevelle, which was being half-assedly worked upon on the other side of the garage doors.

Giraffe could not deny Monkey's charm as she reached behind her to pat his head. "I too have survived a botched defenestration," Monkey confessed.

Three weeks later, on their seventh date, Monkey served Giraffe with a basket stuffed with piping hot flaky pastry. "They're filled with peanut butter and grilled cheese. I know it sounds weird, but---"

And that is the story of how Giraffe and Monkey embarked on a beautiful journey of cross-breeding.
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This photo measures 11x14, borders & title included. It is printed professionally on fine quality metallic paper.