Hello all and welcome to another episode of Ink. I must really apologize for the lack of posts lately, my past two weekends have been spent moving stuff to my new home in Montreal. Between that and working for most of the week, getting time to sit down to do ink has been difficult. It should be coming out more regularly from this point.
Earlier this week my father found roughly 60 to 70 joint butts (or roaches, as they are called to those in the know) in the back of our van. I had borrowed the van for the weekend, and thus had a very awkward time convincing him that they weren't mine. I really quite honestly have no idea where they came from. If anyone has any ideas, drop me a line at firstname.lastname@example.org
. There is no actual grass left in any of them, so don't try to mooch. This actually happened, I'm not making it up.
If that wasn't a surreal enough ending for the week, things continued to get odd for my move to Montreal. My folks, who were driving me up, decided that instead of driving me in our big van, they would borrow their friend's 1978 Salmon coloured Lincoln Continental. This thing is quite probably the single largest production car in the history of the American auto industry at just over 22 feet long. It is the quintessential mac-daddy pimp mobile, complete with plush seats, 8-track and factory issue CB radio. The gas tank holds a metric fuckload of fuel, or 130 (motherfucking) litres. Rolling down the highway in this thing with Tony Bennet crooning on the 8-track, i can assure you, is slightly different that taking the average minivan.
It was interesting enough for me to bring my camera. Here are some snapshots of the car, the countryside, and my silly little dog.