A long time ago, this was one of my uncle's cars. He wrecked it, left it in the woods behind my house to hide it from the cops, and it later became a parts source for my other uncle. We used it as a CD cover for S.E.P. because I love hanging out back there in the woods near that fucked-up car. I actually built a unabomber shack back there, but never lived in it. One of my sisters did briefly, and now the other has it with the door open for her 37 cats to live in.
This was just a lounging wrecked-up truck for sale on the side of 29. The Polaroid came out all blurry too and shit, because when I stop to go in someone's yard or something, I always expect to get shot, so I probably rush it a bit. That doesn't turn out well because a Polaroid is only about two degrees better than using an oatmeal container pinhole camera.
I've seen this pimping ass vehicle up on a hill for a while, and it always intrigues me, even more so than donks, when a dude decides to pay for rims and a paint job and chrome and shit for a shitty Chevrolet stationwagon. There's a couple like this within 45 minutes of where I live, and it always makes me feel good inside to see bullshit like this happening. Fuck whatever Scott Storch drives.
This was the first stupid Polaroid I took, of a busted-up old fire truck in a junk yard. I would imagine most of the pictures are just going to end up being junk cars because for some reason I love that shit. When I'm rich, one of the things I plan on doing is having a junkyard with old fucked-up looking cars that I specifically buy to create some warped feng shui junkyard to walk around in and feel good with all the rust and oil stains and shit. Perhaps this comes from growing up around too many junk cars, or perhaps fuck you I like it you stupid bitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment