Madeline and Eva were amused as I prepared to test my theory that the rocks below were made of styrofoam.
Because lamps aren't dangerous enough.
Portland was relatively green this summer. Much more so than the previous summer, when it was red with the blood of my enemies.
Objects in mirror may be less trippy than you remember once you're sober.
Sean watches the blank television, imagining it filled with dancing ladies.
Stab stab stab!
Ryan takes a picture of himself while out for a walk. The timestamp later helped absolve him of a crime committed by Gary Busey nearby.
Not quite recycling, but you're getting there.
Probably not the safest method of suspension for a mad scientist, but it gets the job done.
Because Melissa doesn't have voicemail.
This smiley face does not inspire happiness.
I call this one: Don't Fuck with Santa.
Somehow underwear in an underpass seems appropriate. Filthy, but appropriate.
Drugs sold here. Or is it something about a serial killer? Or someone making a political statement about adidas? I can never keep track.
