About being smarter than Frankenspouse. Or at least more recalcitrant … (two in a series)

Dear Void

I painted directly onto the doors in my house, much to the chagrin of my long-suffering wife, Frankenspouse.

I found a clunky solution to my photographic problem.  It’s not a good one, because it necessitates loading these pages with huge images.  But you have to remember, this is about me, so fuck you.

I previously showed the initial abortion. The next one is the elder kid's bedroom door.  I distinctly remember doing this one; it came together in four hours: 11pm 'til 3am. Not counting the time it took to sand down the lacquer (by hand back in them days) and slap on 382 layers of undercoat:

 

The theme to these is the ajar door TO COMPLETE THE ILLUSION.  Trouble is, I suck at perspective, so none of them look quite right.

The last one (as it turned out) was the younger kid's door.  He was little then and keen on animals, so:

 

See that little feller down the bottom there? Merrily fucking up my fake door? 

I started on the bathroom door.  It stands to this day, sanded and undercoated and ready to go.  I guess that’s the way it’ll stay because

Soc is a fraud

downinahole