Here are some of the photos from the vacation I took from my wife in the UK. I would like to thank the British Embassy for losing my wife’s passport, costing us all the tickets that they demanded we buy before they would issue a visa and then making us forfeit those and purchase new ones. I’d also like to thank them for the expense of replacing her passport and all of the visas that we’d been granted at that point. For the record, my wife is great and everyone was probably more looking forward to meeting her than they were to seeing me.
A super special ‘thank you’ to James for allowing me to crash on his couch, cooking that weird pasta thing (which was okay- JUST OKAY) and spending all the time and money he did showing me around London (not a cheap place to visit).
Ultra special thanks to Stu and Pulkit for allowing me and the Batman to be a part of their wedding and for allowing me to tag along on their honeymoon AND for footing the car rental and petrol bill. I cannot thank you guys enough! I’d never been out of London before!
And, finally, super thanks to the Smiths for hanging out with me, cooking me food (really good food) (better than James’s pasta), and putting me up for the extra night when TAP wouldn’t let me fly because they’re dicks (FYI: TAP into Portugal demands you have an outgoing ticket. They’re all soulless cuntbags, so don’t try to reason with them. Quick question for TAP’s leadership and/or Portugal’s immigration office: How does the cost of an outgoing ticket prevent people from illegally immigrating or overstaying their visas? Also, to the floppy, miserable ticket counter lady who ruined my day with her shitty attitude and rudeness (if you see Marzela at London Heathrow, be sure to give her my love): go choke on a bargain bin find at Ahmed’s Used, Unwashed Dildo Emporium).
James put hours of work into this post-modern art. He calls it: A Vision of Britain’s Totality. There are probably pubes hidden in it somewhere.
This is James’ tool shed.
This is James’ summer home.
Another shot of the summer home.
The rear of James’ tool shed.
I said something really plebian here. This is the face that James makes for Yank commoners.
The ghostly stairwell up James’ house.
This looks safe as fuck. James is trying to turn his house into a robot. This is the robot’s butt-brain part.
This is a plant.
James and Sebastien
James and Sebastian, again. I don’t know how Sebastien’s name is spelled. He’s German, though, so you know he’s legit.
This is Stu and his good lady wife, Pulkit. Stu is stretching out her gams so she can do some proper calisthenics.
So many photos of these guys walking away. That doesn’t mean anything, I just want you to be prepared.
This is a church. I think this is where Jesus was crucified; you can tell because there’s a turnofthecentury McDonald’s around the corner here and there’s a sign over the stall where Jesus sat and had a long dark talk with his dad for making Big Macs and diarrhea. Why both, father! Jesus wept.
Stu and Pulkit looking at menus.
Is British Telecom still a business? Who the fuck has telephone booths? Really, I like these things, but everybody has cell phones, now. This is essentially a quiet place to pee and masturbate for scrupulous hobos. That said, there are no hobos in Britain, only kingless wizards.
This is a pub made from the bones of Irishman.
I look like people in my family and I don’t like it.
This tree got tired and took a nap. Ten dollars to the first man who can circle this tree’s buns. (Men only).
This is gray moss. I would say that this looks like Chris’ dad’s pubes, but I alread used that line on a postcard.
Stu getting some snaps.
Pulkit contemplating a fence post.
I’m not sure, but I think northern Britain had a surplus of rocks. They needed to keep the Irish immigrants busy, so they commanded walls be made.
Grass growing on a tree. This isn’t the ground, you grass. This is a fucking tree.
Leprechaun Seek and Recover mission: Day 1
Leprechaun Mission: lines have been crossed, morals have been blurred.
They’re toying with me. Leaving trails that go nowhere but deeper into the maze.
Leprechaun search, day 12: I don’t see any method, sir.
Are my methods unsound?
Leprechaun Slaughter: Day 28. I fear I will never escape this heart of darkness.
I found them hiding in a people house, disguised as people. I should have known.
I’m just an errand boy sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill.
Being helpful is Stu’s middle name. “Being helpful” is less embarassing than Stu’s actual middle name.
Sexiest bridge in wherever we were.
Sex swans. You can tell on account of the babies.
Dramatically lit moss: GO!
Britain has one up on Vietnam.
We stayed here for a night or two. It was great.
View out the back of Riversleigh
Seascape, on lake.
Stu snatching some pictures from the jaws of art.
With the greatest of ease.
Some sort of a wizard lair.
Action Stu with realistic photo-crouch!
This is what happens when you open a carbonated beverage that you’ve been shaking all day.
Stu is getting blamed for this. Hard living.
A ramshackle stone house.
A sharp corner. If I had a kid, they would have died on this corner. Not beacuse it’s sharp and they’re dumb, but because this is a great place for child sacrifice and I want all the powers my dark lord can bestow on me.
Pulkit picking rocks.
Stu and Pulkit plus landscape.
Lambs itched here.
Stare down with a sweater-machine
This is how lambs stand when they concede defeat. Eat it, lamb.
I had to put heavy rocks on Stevie Nicks to prevent her from ruining this shot. She was everywhere out here, spinning around, looking at her reflections in hills, regardless of their degree of snow cover and generally, wearing loose fitting shirts with spangles and dangly bits.
Pulkit and Stu sauntering
Same sort of thing as before.
We napped here.
Two pictures that happened to be overlayable. I overlayed them. I did a poor job because I was emphasizing being done over quality. It’s done, now. I hope you’re happy.
Pulkit was going to kiss this slug because it said it would turn into a beautiful prince, but Stu was like, “No way, dude.” and salted that motherfucker within an inch of its life. Then, Pulkit gave him a leaf to eat beacuse she felt bad.
Some of the Smiths. Well, the Smiths and NIcholsons or whatever. I’m not being a dick, I’m just lazy. I love these guys and “Smiths” is easier to say.
That’s about as serious as I could get these dicks. As soon as I asked them to pose for a photo, they lost their glob’am minds.
Greg and Paloma almost peed during this one.
Decent, but Plum is looking a little bit too James Dean for it to be serious.
This is the only picture I could get of all four of them. You’ll notice that Superman has trapped Jesse in the Negative Zone for his unspeakable crimes.
This is where they actually peed. I respect Soirai beacuse she can keep her shit together for about 2 minutes. Gergory and Paloma: no.
This is a good photo of these guys.
What’s going on?
Greg’s a Kiwi and this is how those small magnificent birds express love.
This one’s solid.
Jesse got in on it. He and Gerg are on opposite schedules.
Not drunk. I swear. Probably. I tried to get him to look for his wallet outside in the nude, but he refused. I’d say that passes as sober.
I knew these guys when they were travel-sized. It has been, like, 10 years. Life gets right on your nuts before you know it.
Jesse: Slick Pimp
Paloma: slick piiiiimp
This dude is man-sized.
This broad is lady-sized.