Friday, October 14, 2011
Whistling past the graveyard because it's not the Towering Slab
Fine, fine, we'll getoffyourlawn.
The eternal fencing in.
Post-undead riot.
Against the grain.
Crap that will outlive even the memory of us.
Woodcicles have been known to kill.
Treezilla vs. the Telephone Pole Monster.
Halloweenie.
The light at the end of the tunnel is a mausoleum.
Clevelandia's full of the famous.
Told ya.
Only one of many victims of violence. The grounds crew was either blotto, or there really was a zombie uprising.
♪ Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run ♫
You're still fucked.
Alien flora is only one of our problems.
Insert your favorite innuendo here.
So's your old man.
TROO KVLT
Word.
Walls are nice, they never talk back, mostly.
Posted by Randal Graves at 3:45 PM
Labels: ansel's spinning corpse, cleveland, coworkers of the world unite in duh, darkthroning in the city
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11 comments:
Treezilla vs. the Telephone Pole Monster -- uh oh, sounds scary. Break out the popcorn.
ENTS! You've got pictures of ents! Shirley the stone golems will appear soon.
Treezilla vs. the Telephone Pole Monster
TPM is toast. Suckit, Josh Marshall!
~
Is it just me or.. do you look like a homeless person standing there?
:)
As always, wonderful pictures. You've got an eye my friend!
((Hugs))
laura
I thought that first sign said 'this is not an Ent dance'. Too bad, I could use one.
Your photogatography skills get cooler by the day.
Thanks for sharing.
The light at the end of the tunnel is a mausoleum.
Yeah, that would be a bummer.
tom, like watching C-Span, only more disturbing.
if, insert Airplane! joke here. That woodcicle was there only because a hunka hunka branch was torn off. Something went down in cemetery land.
laura, it's just you because a)that's not me, and b)the Duchess is always dressed with much more swank than yours truly.
Some are okay, but natural light helps.
susan, if that's what you want it to be, go for it. Place being near the ballpark, I'm sure it'll become yet another sports bar soon enough.
Now if I could just take better shots at night. Too much damn grain.
BB, the elixir of immortality sounds intriguing until one realizes a few extra centuries only means more chances to fuck things up.
I like to snap off those woodsicles and suck on them.
What?
Boomchickawowowow.
You should lay a bottle of salad dressing at Paul Newman's grave every year, don't ya think? ;o)
I enjoyed rreading this
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