Zero.

Secret meetings.

Hail to the Chief.

Who Wants to Marry The Baroness Rothschild?

The beauty of it.

Sonnet for the ufo.

When there around the days sunset’s fell sky,
or as we drive our car towards dead ends
of lanes where lovers park to kiss and cry,
some strange or frightful orb on us descends.
Reflected in your glis’ning soft blue mirr’r -
fair edge of sight still unidentified -
tho would objections raise our lips from here
a diff’rent presence now drifts by our side.
And though thought once was view’d astronomy,
are stars near come to gain the state’s control?
Are saucered craft remarked conspiracy
of earmarked page and men without a soul?
Who knows? For us, behind the steering wheel
these creatures alien might well be real.

Did this ever happen to you? I'm taking a shower and the phone rings...

frowny

For some reason, this device is required for adding the finishing touches to my medium white garbanzo bean mocha with whipped.

Jennifer's Birthday.

Self portrait.

House of the Future!

After 45 years, newly released footage from the grassy knoll.

Let's play catch, skin and bones.

Occupied room.

Please store your carrion luggage in the overhead compartment.

Iraqnid.

Bear with me on this one.

The way Jane looked out of the moon.