Wednesday, March 12, 2008

A picture's worth a thousand words.

I call bullshit on that.
What if it's a really big picture? Or a tiny little one like when japanese people scratch pictures onto a grain of rice? A thousand words? More like four words: "TOO MUCH SPARE TIME"


Ah, right... So here's some pictures. But seeing as I don't think they're necessarily worth a thousand words, I've added some of my own.

Sunny days in Czech Republic. And some guy with a cross. Religion is a popular pastime for everyone there. Except statues, they don't do a whole lot. Posers.

Charlotte partially obscuring a sunset. The alternative title for this was 'Sun? In England! Quick, grab the camera and take a damn photo!' Or it could be called 'The Water's Blue, You're Just Colourblind, You Dumbshit.'

The trumpeteer. He also plays saxaphone. He looks like Homeless Busker God.

Remnants of ads in the underground. One bit looks like it's part of an old ad for Giant Strangle Hands™.

The excitement of Liverpool St station. It's usually busier than this. Maybe everyone ran away because the building appears to be being held up by pick-up-sticks.

More statues in Czech Republic. Statues are like Jesus to them. Wait, the statues are Jesus? Oh, it's all starting to make sense now.

London. From Southbank at night. Through a foggy lens. Crap.

Everyone's favourite public holiday: Sit On An Orange Bench With A Stranger Near A Big Fuck-Off Spiky Green Bush Day.

More with the silhouettes and the contrails. At least there's no statues though. Bet you're relieved.

The whimsical land of The Carnies. PS: It's not Frankston. It's a fair. I even got through this night without being pickpocketed, acquiring a giant panda or winning a shitty prize. What is it with Carnie prizes though? Yes, I got some balls to go in some hoop or something, it was damn hard and all you're giving me is a shitty lunch box from some cartoon that hasn't been on tv since 1995? Fuck you and your Captain Planet lunch box.

A study in cement. LAX is a boring, boring place. Especially when all you want is a fucking sandwich and no one sells food unless you count the beggar who'll give you some gum for a tenner. Which i don't.

Most. Boring. Job. Ever. Since when do straps go above your chin? Is that even practical? I say no. I didn't tell him this though as he had a knife stuck on the end of a gun. That's the weapon combination I always choose to not mess with.

Because everyone associates lions with water. Tie your boat up to a lion holding a ring in its mouth! Poor lion, all green and trapped in a giant brick with nothing to eat except a big circle.

Canary Wharf. On weekdays, home to a specific group of wankers called 'analysts' or 'brokers'. On weekends, home to sweet fuck all, apart from this here bridge and some seagulls. THERE'S NOT EVEN ANY CANARIES. YOU LIE LONDON! YOU LIE!

Fireworks. Or a cut scene from a movie representing some kind of sexual occurrence.

In London this is called an 'adequate measure' when combating a boring street-scape. Blue chairs. Wow. Inspiring. "Hey honey, what you wanna do today? We should totally go down by the river and sit on a blue chair! How awesome would that be?... What do you mean 'No, you're a loser'? "

Don't be alarmed. It's just an installation I saw once. How alarming... No? Umm.. ... Err... They weren't real alarms- it was a collage, so i guess you could call them false alarms?
I don't know any more alarm jokes. Ooh, wait: The gallery was such a rip off, we had to pay alarm and a leg to get in.
That is all.

The little spikes stop the birds from shitting on it. Also, what's with the dude pulling shadow puppets down the bottom. He's all like "This one is a rabbit. Kind of. Damn, I need more fingers."

Best shop name ever. Although I don't think any of the lay-deez would take too kindly to the offer of a dance at the fishcotheque. But they have wicked bass! Gettit? Bass!
No Jeremy, shutup. You're lame.

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