hey, watch it with the compliments, you'll destroy everything we've worked for, you overfooted & underfoot foot soldier for the fascist forces of fanatical furriness; aerial view of SF was a good one, tho. who's your jokewriter? the wife? although she's probably busy enough hauling the kids out to see the old man after liter #2 of the cider or so, sort of a cautionary tale as to the dangers of alcohol kind of thing. you're a grand ol' dad, to sacrifice yourself like that for the benefit of your offspring.

and yeah, watch it, Rog - he's militantly anti-Djarum or something.

and close but no Azorean cigar, furious furfarmer - that's Marcia a.k.a. Martian there, a rare and precious gem. the other gal is my beloved old roomie Laura a.k.a. Furry Little Animal. she drives a little Honda totally covered with plush tiger-y fur and has stilts with long pants and shoes at the bottom and all that usual local nonsense. the 'trashed survivor' in the middle photo was great, cruising around confusedly in his pajamas, all destraught & atwitter. the three of us were originally planning to cover ourselves with plaster dust/crumbled brick/purple bruise makeup and then stumble around discombobulatedly ourselves, but the ladies were just too danged lovely.