Worlds collide.
2006-05-25, 4:19 p.m.
Once every two or three years, I take enough pictures to merit getting the disposable camera developed, and I treat you all to a story told in pictures.
Today, we�ll explore some contrasts between middle-income white collar, and middle-income white trash, and the tragedy that results when those two worlds collide.
First, our front porch.
White trash collection of dead plants haphazardly scattered about, torn-up carpet remnant for the dogs, and one muttish dog standing guard. How very sad. And how very going-to-be-rectified this weekend.
Second, our dining room.
Beat-up old TV trays that have served as our coffee and end tables for quite a few years now, hanging out with the fancy dining ensemble. Die, TV trays! Die!
Lookit!
Nothing says disposable income like a new, shiny leather sofa, next to a brand new end table with the store tag still hanging off of it.
Mira!
Nothing says lame-ass like the photo quality you get from a disposable camera. Please note that Monkey Bowl makes an appearance in this one. Do not taunt Monkey Bowl.
I know this is grainy.
All the old furniture is piled in the middle of the room, awaiting manly labor to haul it upstairs to its final resting place: the Lair of Lil Guy. Fancy!
I don�t know why I took this one. But I do like the way Piper hugs the wall when she walks down the hall.
I�m very busy leaving a dog-dirt line on the wall, and you�re in my way.
If you look closely, you can see the cow that used to visit us from the neighbors�, and Mrs. Beans tearing through the yard with wild delight at the thought of a gentleman caller.
Never mind he�s of a different species � I LOVE HIM!!!
Here�s my red-faced husband lying on the couch, with one sixty pounder on him, and one thirty-fiver up again� him.
Hello. I am a dog magnet. I like to wear t-shirts with the sleeves cut out of them to show off my bulbous pecs and luxurious pelt of armpit hair. I like beer from a can, long walks on the golf course, and snuggling.
Here�s a different angle. Get a load of Beans�s scary glowing eyeballs of death.
I will kill you in your sleep, bitch. Back off. He�s mine.
I leave you with a shot of my child swimming in a white trash swimming pool: turning the hose on himself standing in the wheelbarrow.
There�s a trash can, and a wheelbarrow. Wheelbarrow�ll be good for you.
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