photos and ramblings by a deranged lunatic.

Monday, October 29, 2012

I hate you.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012


f8 1/250 ISO200

People, can we talk about the shit that's going on with our current level of standards for american cinema? Huh? Can we?... Well if we can then let me be the, I'm sure not the first, to say it (as my cousin Ryan would say) "sucks ass". Of course he was using it in reference to something completely different, but I found the choice of descriptive terms fitting here. So anyways, "sucks ass" I say, about american cinema. There's nothing that even slightly interested me in the theaters these days. Just stupid remakes of movies and shows that were rad in the first place and didn't need to be remade. Movies suck ass. Until now! Ladies and gentlemen, especially those who are budding screenplay writers, let me present to you my film idea...
Attack of the Killer Sperm!

Please tell me it hasn't been done cause shit man, I think that it'd be great for a hoot. Don't you?!
So the story's this: 16 year old virgin discovers during a horrific swimming pool massacre, that his sperm are mutant, flesh eating, inseminating piranhas!

Ok, you twisted my arm into elaborating. So this sixteen year old virgin meets this girl and finally does things right enough times in a row that she ends up kinda liking him. They end up in some pool somewhere where she turns him on to the point of ejaculation. IN THE FUCKING POOL. His mutant sperm are unleashed on living flesh for the first time. They brainlessly hunt for a membrane, any membrane, to burrow into, and fertilize. The pool erupts in a blood soaked orgy of death. The boy, we'll call him Phillip, is left waist deep in the blood, guts, and bones of his friends and loved ones. And the story continues from there- 


So, ladies, gentlemen, screenplay writers, please, feel free to take this gem of an idea and make it into a movie. You can steal my idea, I just want to see this shit made. Just promise me, when they ask "why", and you fucking damn well know they will, just say: "the devil made me do it". 

f29 1/15 ISO200

Saturday, May 26, 2012

the grid

f4, 1/1250, ISO100

This poor bugger died as a result of a webbed pool fence that surrounds a blocky shaped pool behind my house. It makes me think about this not only in terms of a direct image of life and death but that we live possibly below a grid. What's above the fucking grid you ask? Good fucking question! I don't know. Another world? Eternal sunlight and warmth? I don't fucking know, but it is a sobering thought to think that we may all be pawns in some alien cheap thrill game. Like one group was like: Hey bitches, I bet you guys I can turn this super relaxed peaceful group of monkeys into brainless fleshy robots that you can have do whatever you want and not only that but we'll do it so that they technically do it all under their own free will. HUUUUhuuwwooo that's a crazy thing to believe anyone could do. 

f4.5 1/60 ISO800

This is what I'm talking about. We've "evolved" to the point that we sit and stare at the little boxes, whether they be computers or TVs, we sit and stare, and these little boxes tell us what is cool, what's funny, what's bad, etc. Do we even have free thought anymore? Is it all just layer upon layer of mind manipulation. What is a pure thought? What is a pure opinion? I can't find one within myself. Does this mean we all have to live like Quakers or The Amish in order to truly free ourselves from this. Even then how do you coexist with the rest of society if everyone else is wrapped up in what The Man tells us. Who exactly is the man? Fuck if I know. I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Ironically, I sit her contemplating all this bullshit while staring at my own brain control box. Go figure.

f2 1/4000 ISO1600

I'm not going to lie. The settings on my camera for this photo are a bit embarrassing, but since I made the decision early on that I'd: a) put my camera settings under my photos, and b) not lie. Then, I couldn't: a) not put the settings under my photo, or b) lie. Regardless, I like how it came out. I liked how it came out so much, that I decided to post it up anyway even though it'd expose myself as the no talent ass clown hack that I am.  

Saturday, May 5, 2012

f22, 1/160, ISO1600

I got nothing snippy to say about today's photo. I fucking like it. 

Sunday, April 15, 2012

The poor son of a bitch

f5.6, 1", ISO 400

I saw this poor son of a bitch's buddy die today... And let me tell you something, it's just not fucking fair. I don't know why but I've always had a liking for these poor helpless bastards. They have shells but, come on, who's fooling who here? Those little shits don't do anything. Poor fucking bitches. I took a picture of this guy a little bit after the other one bit it. I kind of feel like I can see his pain on the shell. Poor sons of bitches. Anyway, I don't want to get all sappy on you or anything but I don't like seeing things die... 

View From Above

f 5.6, 1/100, ISO 400

This guy looked like he had something good to eat. Whatever it is in the styrofoam thingy doo dad is most likely goopy yet delicious and the bag holds carbs of deliciousness. Who are these guys? Who do you think they are? Yep, that's right. You knew it all along. So there you have it. You fucking have it.  

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Nerdfest 2012

f2.8 1/100 ISO400

Yes, ladies and gents. I, The Devil, shall be competing in Nerdfest 2012, AKA The Global University Business Decision Competition. This here is a pic of "operation sink their shit and run to the bank laughing our asses off". How does it work, you now intrigued, ask. Well that's pretty damn secret. Let's just say it's a little too upper level for you. I'll tell you this though, it involves capitalism at it's finest. A true display of modern man's massive misunderstanding of the meaning of life. And it's grand, indeed. Stay tuned my greedy little corporate whores. I'll teach you how to sell your soul sooner or later. But for now, let us bask in the glory that is modern man's complete idiotic wildly off course understanding of the meaning of life. 

The Dev