"Blessed are the Artists, for in their hands the impossible is made real." - Anonymous, The Blessings of Sheogorath.
I'm a colorist, photographer, and photo manipulator. I try to have a varied a gallery as possible.
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This is a story about an old fart named Harold. Harold was a simple man, of simple wants and needs. With a bottle of scotch in one hand and binoculars in the other, He’d spend whole afternoons counting red cars passing his living room window, For every tenth red car, he’d take a sip of the bottle. This would go on for quite some time until the old man got tired of doing the the technicolor yawn. Just as Harold was about to find his favorite towel, he could hear footsteps nearing the front door and a faint ring in the doorbell. Not being accustomed to visitors, Harold was nearly dumbstruck by the possibility of a visitor and what that might bring to his lonely existence.
«Come on in» said Harold, in a ghoulish but inviting voice.
As the weary salesman entered the house, he was suddenly struck by an overwhelming pungent odor. His eyes wandered as in shock, noticing an array and assortment of semi consumed refreshments and the largest assortment of pizza boxes carefully arranged into a neat Victorian coffee table. At which the suddenly regretful salesmen tried to commence his sales pitch routine, never a man to miss an opportunity for a sale, he continued reluctantly.
With a grin on his face, he muffled out what few words he could «Ehm, Hello Sir, may I interest you in some of my masterfully handcrafted door knobs? It would seem like you could sure use some.»
Harold, not being a very bright individual, asked what he could use the door knob for, in which he was given a novel sized lecture on door knobs by the salesman.
The old man, hacking onto every word, had simply decided to amuse himself by creating a game, whereas every time this strange soliciting visitor said the word door, he would take a swig from his medicinal canteen, Its going to be a wonderful array of colors this time, he thought to himself, remembering the blue slurpee and liquorish he had earlier.
After a mere 30 seconds, Harold was on his 16th swig and was starting to wonder if his endeavor was as great an idea as he originally thought it might be. The further the salesman got into his lecture and sales pitch the more Harold’s room started to spin, he could feel his stomach, deciding it didn’t like his current course of actions and had elected to inform Harold of this by opening up to him in the only way it knew how, it had elected to invoke the technicolor yawn all over the unsuspecting salesman, time seemed to grind to a halt, as an awkward silence descended upon the two. The salesman, unsure of how to react and at that moment was in the state of a minor shock, still attempting to process what had just occurred.
Harold, frozen in that moment, mesmerized by the array of colors he had created on the poor salesman. The salesman, now paled, meekly requested to use the bathroom. Harold, asked for a moment, so that he may study his creation in greater detail. Taking a mental picture, he then continued onward into the hallway to show the salesman the bathroom. The salesman’s tie, was extremely unhappy and appalled at the situation at hand, while his shirt, was just happy that the showboating tie got what was coming to him. As the salesman made his way to the bathroom, Harold insisted on helping his visitor, he produced a towel from behind the shower curtains and some cleaning product from a cardboard box, feeling a tad guilty about his sudden outburst of color spray upon the salesman, he had no intention of starting an art project today, But he had no regrets about his masterwork of beauty, even though it was untimely. The towel didn’t mind, having grown accustomed to having to clean up after Harold. With the awkward series of events hopefully behind them, the salesman thanked Harold for his hospitality and bid farewell,
«What about the door knobs?» he asked the Salesman.
The salesman lighted up as he saw the interest in Harold’s eyes. The hopeful salesman opened his leather suitcase to show the neatly placed door knobs. Harold, still clueless about the purpose of these strangely protruding items, simply stood there looking at them for quite some time until he decided for the golden colored ones. Harold, still chemically imbalanced from his game with the salesman decided to place the door knob near his favorite chair. Harold has never had a pet, his mother would never let him, as her view on animals were strictly for consumption. The Old fart often being rat arsed could just about squint and make the door knob appear like a hunchbacked kitten. Harold couldn’t be more pleased and so decided to pass out on the artsy floor.
TO BE CONTINUED.
(I know this is quite rough around the edges, and its far from finished, but just thought I'd share this first draft of this weird story I came up with. Feedback is greatly appreciated)