My Facebook friends, both of them, will be very confused as this is my profile picture. All along they thought i became a writer because of the big nose and facial hair, and that i was doing quite well for not having thumbs. All true. But i am an impostor. No one could wear a Scottish tam with attached red hair like our Westie, Rascal, recently released from his earthly bonds at the age of 17. He is the real inspiration for this blog, and for all other fun but wrong activities. He was a wonderful sociopath, delightfully criminal, and a frequent clotheswearer. Some have gone so far as to suggest that his walking around the block in a sportsbra was the root of his psychological malaise but they are under-informed h8ters. he had a full body unitard (with tail hole thoughtfully cut out) but, always a minimalist, we all agreed the sportsbra was all he needed.
Bangs! Face-flattering, yes, but they grow out so quickly!
The Mr. Peabody sweatshirt jauntily tied over the shoulders that you see imitated all the time now? The original. As always, classic with a twist.
One-piece? What were we thinking? Shortly after this photo was taken, he went under the deck and scraped this faux paw off. It's still there.
A somewhat rougher Nativity scene than we're used to seeing -- Joseph looks like she's going to beat the crap out of someone, the only thing Mary is contemplating in her heart is the last fudgie oatmeal bar and baby Jesus looks like he might bite.
i have one word for you -- accessories.
See the dress the American Girl doll is wearing? See Rascal not wearing anything? Yet.
Dang I'm in trouble for posting this photo. Blameless as he was, there's a certain amount of guilt by association. I may or may not have had something to do with the crimes going on here. In hindsight, Rascal may have looked better in the midnight-raid-on-the-warren-jeffs-compound that emma's rocking. Live and learn, right?
No comments:
Post a Comment