The Rock Band.
They used to, in the old days, wear matching outfits. My dad's band, the 6th column, were all about the fashion of the day. My dad is in the back on the drums.
The Princess Bride.
A nice big late 60's Catholic wedding. My mom was 18, I think.
The cross that was on top of the cake hung on my wall for most of my childhood.
The Army Recruit.
Before he went off to Europe to get knifed and shot on D-Day and spend four years fighting then rebuilding the places they'd blown to bits, my grandfather had a portrait taken for his girlfriend, my grandmother. This is hardy hillbilly stock after you put some 1940's movie special effects into it.
Like Burt Reynolds and shit.
My brother is 3 years older and several sizes larger than I. In this photo, I was growing out of my blonde hair (I was blonde until about 8 or so). This was roughly 1979 or 1980. The black Firebird Trans Am is my father's.
Gruesome, not safe for appetites.
If you look through my files, there are two pictures of my back. Both are poor enough in quality to qualify as horrifying. They are here (day after surgery) and here (two days after). That second one is really just a shot of my ass. Tough to take pictures with one hand behind you when you aren't allowed to twist.
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