CREST MOTEL

My friend Motel Todd called to tell me he was staying at the Crest Motel on Camp Bowie West. He said he'd moved their from the Avalon Motel so that he could, again get a break from his FOX NEWS-watching, rightwing nut family who he normally stays with.

He said he paid $160 for a week's stay.

(Click here to read a story and view the photos I took of the Avalon Motel.)

The Crest Motel has probably been around since the '50s. It's really not a bad place at all, at least not for dudes like me and Todd who've lived in shitty dumps during parts of our lives, but it does have an unlucky number of rooms --- 13. And the place's outside walls are painted in a pale yellow with the doors painted a light pink.

Think Miami Vice.

But I chalk up the paint choice to the fact that the owner/owners of the Crest Motel probably got these colors of paint for extremely cheap at some auction or from one of those cheapo warehouse places that are full of unused building materials.

Todd's room, 10, was quite roomy, with a dresser drawer, mirror, a t.v. that shows 60 cable channels (meaning Todd can watch MSNBC's Oblermann and Maddow left-leaning political shows) and a little utility room where Todd had stored some Saltine crackers --- a can of something, beans probably since he likes to entertain himself by farting --- a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, all placed on a shelf. There's a mini-fridge in the same room, with it being about a quarter of the size of a regular refrigerator, and plenty big enough for a six-pack or two.

The bathroom, compared to the Avalon's, was really nice. It was very clean and it had a nicer shower than even my own. I forgot to take a picture of it, however. Dumbass, me. The shower looked like it had been updated to 21st century style even though the rest of the bathroom looked like it was the original installation.

I had e-mailed Todd and told him to let me know when he got home from work on Friday so that I could come pick him up there to give me the opportunity to take a few photographs of his newest place of residence instead of him just leaving there to come over to my place for our usual Friday Night Light Beer drunk fest and Bill Maher's HBO "Real Time" show watching.

About 4 p.m. he called me and said he was ready and I drove on over. When I got there I parked next to his Ford SUV, which sat in front of room 5. Therefore, since he wasn't outside waiting for me (he later told me that he had waited but then got bored and went back inside his room) I assumed he was in room 5 since that's where he'd parked. So I knocked on 5's door and got no reaction, even after knocking three different times. The last time I knocked a little louder since I was kinda wondering if he was asleep. Again, no answer.

So I stood there and wondered what to do, maybe start taking photos or light up a cigarette.

I finally decided to go down to room 4. I knocked. After doing so twice the results were the same as room 5. Then I started wondering if someone came out of either room and maybe wasn't happy about a strange knock at the door that they might come out, barely clothed to make it all the worse, all freaked out and force me into a shitty situation. So I was really hoping Todd would appear a.s.a.p.

Next, I tried room 7. What shocked me was that the door to room 7 was wide open. I peeked inside, no lights were on except the bit of outdoor light from an overcast sky, and I saw a dude half past out on his bed, in shorts, socks and a t-shirt. At first I thought it might have been Todd because the guy was Todd's size but I couldn't see his face at all, so I wasn't sure.

I was doing this search for Todd, by the way, because we had forgot to let each other know what room number he was in when he called and told me he was ready for me to come and pick him up.

The reason I couldn't see the face on the body in room 7 was because the person had their left arm arched over their face. The man's clothes were disheveled. He seemed to be drunk and Todd is known to tie one on early in the day, especially if his friend is doing all the driving.

As I stood outside the door, and with the man on the bed unaware of my presence, I looked around his room and it was scatter shot with things we all need in life. Every drawer, desk, shelf, etc., was covered with various things we humans use.

So, without being able to tell that it was Todd lying there since I knew Todd could be found in that condition, I tapped on the wide open door and said, "Todd?"

The person barely lifted up his head, which made me quickly realize he wasn't Todd since he was and old fart with grey hair. He grunted something unintelligible. Somewhat shocked, and who wouldn't be in that situation, I quickly told him, "My mistake, man", and he went right back to sleep, not even bothering to close his room's door or ask me to do it for him.

Then, growing more frustrated, I walked back down to room 5 and knocked on it again. Nothing.

Motherfucker.

But then the Gods Of Who Knows What answered my prayers in my harried effort to find my buddy --- without me getting killed by some enraged motel dweller and having my body mutilated in a historical way and my corpse being found by some jogger running through the woods in Trinity Park --- when I heard Todd yell at me from outside his room that was on the second floor.

He was upstairs standing against the railing. He was outside of room 10. I walked up the stairs, located in a way that I had to pass the old fart's open door, which made me nervous, and I proceeded to go inside Todd's room.

The Crest Motel. Todd's room was on the top, right above the Yellow cab. Look at the place's jiffy paint job.

That's when I took photographs (see the rest of them at the end of this text).

From the balcony I took a photo of a Yellow Cab parked next to Todd's ride because of the public service announcement on top of it. I spent about 10-15 minutes taking photographs. Nothing much interesting to see, unlike the photos from the Avalon Motel. But enough for this story.

Nothing unusual about a Yellow Cab except for the public service announcement advertisement on top of it. Yeah, you stupid young punks, get them britches up and act right or else Grandma's gonna kick your ass.

Oh, by the way, I didn't take a photograph of The Crest Motel's sign since it was changed from a classic '50s sign into a modern day boring piece of crap, which pissed me off to no end. However, I had captured its old school sign years ago. You can see it by clicking here. It's behind the main subject, the Golden Gate Motel sign.

As we drove to my place for party time Todd said the only bar within walking distance from the Crest Motel was Cherita's Bulldog Sports Bar, a small wood paneled little dump, across the street. He said he walked over there one night and got a bad feeling right away, with some rough lookin' motherfuckers inside drinking. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. He saw a looker hanging out with a couple of dudes and when she walked over to the jukebox he decided to make a move. He asked her, "What tunes do you like?" After that short, polite exchange they went their separate ways and Todd kept drinking his beer. But then, he said, the guys with the looker started staring at him.

"They seemed upset that I spoke to that woman."

Sensing that too much beer drinking trouble could possibly be brewing (pun intended) Todd said he finished his beer and got the fuck out of there and went back to his room.

"There's a lot of crazy people out there," he said. "I think that place is a biker's hangout because I saw a dude wearing a Banditos leather jacket."

The Banditos have a chapter in Fort Worth.

I told Todd that I'd taken a photograph of that wild and crazy bar's cool sign some time back when I went out hunting photos (instead of humans since I'm not a serial killer). Its small lot was full, and this was around noon on a Friday, and so I had to park around in the back. I got out with of my car with my Nikon D700 digital SLR, with the 50mm f/1.8D AF Nikkor autofocus lens attached. While walking back to the front of the bar where the sign was I had to walk past the joint's open front door, meaning anyone in there could see me and my camera and think the worst, like I was a private investigator, bounty hunter or some other nefarious crime stopper. After getting the shot I wanted I swiftly walked back to my car but was interrupted by a crusty old fart who had walked out of the bar's front door. Our paths crossed but, fortunately, the only interaction we had was nodding to each other and going on our separate ways.

Boy, was I relieved.

Apparently, according to one reviewer of this dive, I was lucky to escape because after getting home from that shoot I researched the place on the Internet Tubes and found a dissatisfied review of the Bulldog Sports Bar. The reviewer wasn't really happy with his experience there. He wrote this: "Even though there is a sign that says 'No Fighting' it seems the folks running the place are the ones that seem to create the most trouble. A nice atmosphere if you are not constantly concerned when something will break out. Hard to enjoy a cold beer or drink with your buddy while in a constant defensive position. And the whining kid that 'works'? There is more trouble than it's worth to go in. I give it a 1/2 star."

I have been car chased after taking a photo of the notorious Lady Luck on the near south side of Fort Worth by a psycho white trash couple and so, while still willing to take chances, I am always weary when I entertain taking a photograph of a bar.

Actually, if you want to take photos of bars, especially the more shady ones, get to them early in the morning on a Sunday before they open. That's my sage advice.

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE

Room 12. Shot this to give you a better idea of the Miami Vice-like paint job.

This warning sign was placed on the lower floor for everyone to clearly see.

Across the street was the Golden Gate Motel with their classic '50s style sign.
Here's the somewhat obstructed view from Todd's bathroom window.

Ironically enough, Todd had a tube of Crest toothpaste for his stay at the Crest Motel. Nice touch, Todd.

No Battery Required Fire Alarm

A dude I know who trolls the Internet Tubes for funny shit sent me a photo of a Jiffy Pop redneck "fire alarm" that was funny as shit. It had me LOL.

The next day I hit the grocery store for some subsistence and found myself in the isle with, what else, the popcorn. I quickly spotted some Jiffy Pop, a product that has been around since 1959 and even spawned a little burner just for Jiffy Pop called the Jiffy Pop Popper. I put one in my hand-held grocery store basket and with the thought of improving upon the funny photo I'd been sent the evening before.

Since I thought the original was poorly shot --- the angle sucks and the Jiffy Pop being held up by a single nail is too far away considering it is the photo's main subject, plus the photo coming out of some piece of shit point-and-shot digicam --- I wanted to do a better job of it.

Jiffy Pop popcorn is something I can remember me and my sister and mom enjoying way back in the late '60s, it being exciting watching as the cover, as the pan of the Jiffy Pop got hotter and hotter, bulge more and more and knowing we'd soon be digging into a yummy snack.

I placed the Jiffy Pop container on a hook on my front door that was once used for a little plastic basketball rim where I'd shoot indoor hoops, imagining myself being LeBron James or Michael Jordon, while dunking and hitting 3-pointers. I tired of that childish game, however, and took the fucking rim down but didn't think about removing the hook that held it up.

After I attached the Jiffy Pop to the hoop hook I got out my Nikon D700 digital SLR, with the 50mm f/1.8D AF Nikkor auto focus lens attached to it, and took this shot.

So you tell me which photo is better in the comments section. I'd like to know your opinion, good, bad or indifferent. Thanks.

AVALON MOTEL

My friend, Motel Todd, left me a message on my machine saying he'd checked into the Avalon Motel on the Jacksboro Highway near the intersection of River Oaks Boulevard. He also wondered if I wanted to come over and check it out. I called him and said, "Hell, yeah. I'll come over on Sunday." He said make it about 11 a.m. since he planned on downing a fifth of Jack Daniels during the evening.

The next morning I went over there to see if this place was as God awful as it looks from the street and for, of course, taking photographs.

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE!

Surprising, for a dumpy, grungy looking place it wasn't a bad place. The drive area was all gravel and dirt but some of the 25 units had carports. Nice touch for hot Texas summers when shade is a great commodity. I pulled up and parked in an area than seemed like it for visitor parking and got out of my car with my Nikon camera bag holding my . He was in room #6.

For something that's not larger than a box, about 200 square feet, it was impressive and the AC blew out COLD air, a big plus during hot Texas summers. But the only t.v. channel he could get was Channel 8, the Metroplex's ABC affiliate. I told him since the HD conversion took place that he should rescan the t.v. to pick up all the HD channels. But I doubt he bothered with it.

The bed's backboard had a reference to some sexual goings on there in its past. It read "Janet N You N Me" (a photo of that follows this text). It looked like it was painted with nail polish. So it doesn't take much of an imagination to know what that meant.

The Avalon Motel has, for whatever reason, a water tower sitting over it's main office. As I walked around taking pictures of the place some old fat white guy was sitting outside the office in a chair in the noon time sun. He was tanned and bald and had a big beer belly. He wore a white wife beater t-shirt. His assistant, obviously an illegal alien, a young guy, in his early '20s, wore a short sleeve shirt and black pants. He had greased back hair and a thin mustache. Some white trash folks were situated in room #3 just down Todd's 1-room-and-a-shitter place. They looked at me with suspicion.

But that's normal for people who take photos. Everyone looks at you like you're an alien. "What's he doing taking pictures?" Like I'm gonna sell'em to TMZ.comz or something. Puh-lease.

Meanwhile, I waved and smiled to the office's old fart two times, once while driving into the place and another time while driving out of it. His only reaction was a stare of zero. No acknowledgment whatsoever, except to give me the evil eye after I had parked and was walking across the gravel drive towards Todd's room. At the time this old man was talking to an older couple a couple of rooms down from Todd, and he looked at me like I was trouble. What a dumbass.

Well, if I had that job I guess I'd have shitty 'tude myself. Even though from Jacksboro Highway it seems unimaginable that the Avalon Motel --- a relic from the '50s when Jacksboro Highway was a fabulous place where gambling, dancing and other nefarious activities took place --- is still a working motel. It's an amazing achievement. To still be in business in this new world of corporate hotel franchises that have eaten alive the mom and pop places so prevalent in the not too distant past is unbelievable but what with the economy is now it's a very much needed motel with the rent there being $153 dollars a week --- all bills paid and the added bonus of a little fridge.

After I took my photos we then we went to a Chinese buffet just down the street. I decided to take a piss before we left and soon realized that the door wouldn't stay shut. No wonder. Upon closer inspection there wasn't the framing in place to where the door knob's metal piece could lock in place. So the door kept opening. Finally, I placed the toilet paper roll down on the floor to keep it shut. Also, over the sink's hot and cold knobs was magic market writing in red that read, "HOT" over the hot knob and "COLD" over the cold knob. Sheesh, I guess they get some stupid guests. I'm surprised it wasn't in Spanish too, "caliente" for hot and "frío" for cold.

The buffet place, one neither of us had ever been to but was fairly new, was a nice, clean place. One of its dished had tiny baby octopuses, boiled, plus they had some whole fried fish with its head, fins, tail, etc., still attached and, surprisingly, crawlfish. Todd ate one and didn't really like it. Obviously, I didn't eat any of that shit. I just went with my regular choices at a Chinese buffet --- fried rice, noodles, asparagus, shrimp and chicken. After finishing off my plate I had some soft serve ice cream, another reason I love Chinese buffets, and a brownie for dessert.

After eating I took Todd up the street to Family Value, a dollar place, because he needed to buy a couple of cans of fix-a-flat since his back right tire went down during the night. He's checked out of there Monday morning.

He said he went to the Avalon Motel because he just wanted to get away from his World War II vet grandpa and his crazy lunatic cousin, a Manchurian Candidate in the making, for a couple of days since all they do is watch FOX NEWS and listen to right wing radio, like Lush Limpballs. Then, for entertainment, watch the white trash stupidity of WWE "wrestling". Ugh.

Last thing I heard from Todd was another message on my answering machine. He said he'd ventured over to Camp Bowie West (used to be known as Highway 80) rented a room at the Crest Motel for a week. He said it was an improvement from the Avalon Motel, plus Illusion's --- A Gentlemen's Cabaret is right across the highway. But Todd said his money was between going to Illusions or staying at the Crest Motel. That tells you how much he wanted a rest from the unrelenting right wing lunatic madness that envelopes him at his grandpa's house.

"This new place is $160 for a week, only $7 more than Avalon was wanting. Caravan Inn (down the street from Avalon) is $185, plus a $25 deposit --- just for a week. I checked a lot of prices. Anyway, this place is 'divish' but on par with the Caravan Inn. I got about 60 channels of basic cable and a micro fridge, which I can put a six-pack into --- and no graffiti on the headboard, ha ha ha. I figure I may as well get away while I can --- if only for a little while --- since I've been with my psycho relatives for over a year."

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE!

The Avalon Motel is a can't miss place on Jacksboro Highway with this water tower that sits above the place's office. It's about three stories high.The bathroom. Had to shoot it this way to get the toilet and the sink into the frame 'cause it was so god damn small. Notice above the sink's hot and cold knobs the words, in red ink, that read HOT and COLD.

The room's toilet paper dispenser was useless --- unless Todd gave a shit enough that he went outside and found a stick that would fit the holes. At least the Avalon staff provided toilet paper.
The bathroom door wouldn't close behind you because the framing where it would lock had been removed, most likely when two people where there and one wanted to get at the one locked in the bathroom and busted it open. At least that's the scenario I thought of. Just a guess.

Todd's smokes sitting atop the room's queen-sized bed. "The little cigars were only $2.25 a pack," Todd said.

On the bed's headboard was this writing. Apparently, a trio of sexually active persons had a three way in the same bed Todd spent two nights sleeping in.

Todd standing next to the Avalon Motel's fencing, which is topped by barbwire. And he's wearing his favorite t-shirt.

Todd's car was parked underneath a carport next to his room, a good thing to have during hot ass Texas summers. But you had to squeeze inbetween the left end of his car to enter the door. A very tight fit.

Vivian Courtney's Hollywood Restaurant

Once this restaurant's namesake, Vivian Courtney (click on her name to view a video tribute to her and photos of the inside of her restaurant), died in 2004 it was closed. The main building, which was as unique as the sign, was leveled (wished I'd taken a shot of it before it was bulldozed) but the place's unique sign remains to this day.

In fact, if you want the sign you can have it. John T. Roberts posted this @ Fort Worth Architecture, "If anyone is interested, the old neon Vivian Courtney's Restaurant sign is available to anyone who wishes to take it away. It is a two-sided exposed neon sign with the letter 'V' on top. It sits at the corner of Jacksboro Highway and Roberts Cut-Off Road @ 5915 Jacksboro Highway. I tried to find a home for it with two organizations but they did not have a place to put it. Now I'm offering it to anyone who thinks they can remove it and preserve it. The sign is about 28 feet tall and about 12 feet wide at the widest point."

Me and my friends ate their several times. It was a cool a place, with photos and posters from Old Hollywood --- we're talkin' John Wayne, Elvis Presley, Gone With The Wind, etc. --- hanging on the walls and in each booth there were equipped with miniture jukeboxes that really worked. You put in a quarter and got to choose three songs.

It had a buffet at lunch or you could order off the menu. The eats were simple good ol' white trash cuisine dishes.

A beautiful place that is now in the dustbin of history. Too bad. To me, the old stuff is, and still will be, the best stuff.

Yeah, as I get older I cherish the good ol' days more.

Yes, I'm sentimental but that comes with age and there's nothing wrong with getting older because you get smarter and realize that the modern stuff is just stuff that's not worth a damn (iPods & cell phones, for example) in my opinion.

Hankette The Kitten

My sister, seen here holding Hankette, told me she heard a strange crying sound while she was downstairs in her house when it was raining heavily in Fort Worth, Texas, one day. The sound, she said, was coming from my youngest nephew's bedroom on the second floor of their house. His bedroom windows were open and when they're opened they allow one to crawl onto the back roof. My sister said she went upstairs to investigate.

"I knew it was some kind of animal," she told me. She saw a clump of wet fur on the roof. "I thought it was a rat or maybe a squirrel."

Turns out it was an almost new born kitten.

"Maybe a bird or something got it from it's mother and dropped it there," she opined. "For such a tiny thing she sure was making a lot of noise."

I went over to her house and took pics of the little sweeit pie. I told her to call her Hankette, after Charles Bukowski, since she was found drenched, like a "wet rat in the rain", which paraphrases a line from the movie BARFLY, which Bukowski penned and Mickey Rourke starred in as Bukowski's alter ego, Henry Chinaski.

She couldn't keep Hankette since she already had two beagles and a husband allergic to cats and said she would give her to a rescue shelter or an interested party once she was big enough.

My sister was feeding Hankette with a special feeding bottle and formula for baby cats that she got at PetSmart. Despite my protests my sister said she didn't want to name it Hankette, preferring Yoda based on her little tiny droopy ears.

"I'm not gonna keep her so I don't want to name her anything."

See, if you name an animal you automatically become attached to it and that means it's yours.

Claps of applause go out to my sister for saving a life.

UPDATE: My sister found a couple who wanted a little kitten to spoil. They told her they would get another kitten so Hankette would have a half-brother or half-sister for companionship. "I wouldn't have given them Hankette if they had not made a positive impression on me."

WBM III Posing With Decaying Goat Head

The face William Bryan Massey III (click his name to see a video of him reading his poem "Buttwiper"), head cook at Fred's Texas Cafe, made in this photograph was caused by the incredible stink emanating from the still freshly decaying goat head he held up in his right hand.

"I had to shake all of the maggots out of the skull before gettin' ahold of it, " WBM III told me.

Yew wee!

The goat was drained of it's blood, after its throat was slit open, and the skin ripped off at the Hardcore Texas ranch house a week earlier by Fred's Texas Cafe's self-proclaimed "Outlaw Chef", Terry Chandler, for a special dish he had planned at his white trash eatery in Fort Worth. He used the goats innards for the feast.

So Bryan placed the goat head on a fence post and let the maggots and other bugs do their bidding in eating away its guts and skin. He said, as I was visiting the Hardcore Texas ranch house he shares with Hippy Steve in Aledo, "C'mon, let's get a pic of me with that goat head for a book cover I'm doing." Bryan self-publishes his own poetry books. They're wonderfully constructed and are one of a kind jewels, especially the words in them written by Bryan.

So we went out back and I took quite a few pics of him holding it before getting this winning shot.

He kept saying, as I took shot after shot, "God damn, this motherfucker STINKS to high heaven!"

Of course, this had me laughing my ass off and, fortunately for Bryan, I can take pics fast. I don't do fancy posing or lighting when I take pics of people because I do it the best way possible, all natural with no gimmicks, and so Bryan didn't have to suffer too long with that goat head next to his nose.

Hell, yeah, Texas style all the way, man.

LOW DAILY EEK LY RATES

My buddy, Motel Todd, got his nickname, bestowed upon him by yours truly by living at the Caravan Inn for a year and a half, from March '98 to October '99.

This motel has been at its same location, at the corner of Jacksboro Highway and River Oaks Boulevard in Fort Worth, for as long as I can remember, and that's way back to the '60s.

In fact, my step-father told me a funny story, that I can't recall the particulars of at the moment, about him driving his car into the place's pool in the '60s.

Todd's room was a typical motel room with the usual amenities. I think he paid $520 a month for his one room, though he had to pay weekly and he didn't have a kitchen but used a microwave and cooler instead. He said the free coffee was in the lobby sitting on a little table in the corner.

Juvenile Shoe Store (Red Goose Saloon)

This extremely cool neon sign represented a shoe store from many, many moons ago. Now this place is called the Red Goose Saloon. It's in Fort Worth's noted Sundance Square downtown entertainment district.

The owners of this bar, thankfully, chose to keep the classic sign and called their place the Red Goose Saloon because there used to be actual Red Goose shoes sold at this place.

On the Fort Worth Architecture website it says, "This is a wonderful example of early 20th century architecture in Fort Worth. The original interior is intact. For many years it was the home of Solomon's Juvenile Shoe Store. The Red Goose Saloon occupies both floors of the early Fort Worth retail structure (1903). This is a prime location for a restaurant/bar."

YELLOWJACKET NEST

I was out at the Hardcore Texas ranch house in Aledo, Texas one summer afternoon visiting my buddies Hippy Steve and William Bryan Massey III, head of kitchen operations at Fred's Texas Cafe, and spotted this yellow jacket nest up in one corner of the back porch.

So I got good and close and pointed my Nikon D80 up at it and took some shots.

As I was shooting, the yellowjacket on top of the nest turned my way and hunched down and fiercely stared at me, ready to attack my intrusion. I just said, "Hold on, buddy, I'll be finished in a sec."

Can you see the progress of the baby yellowjackets in the cocoons? See the one cocoon with the black head all shiny and seemingly ready to take flight? If not, click on the photo to get a closer look.

Man, insects are cool.

These yellowjackets look fierce as all get out and they are. Click for more about the yellowjacket flying badasses.

THE RANCH

This neon sign, which is pretty f-ing cool lookin', is for The Ranch country radio station that resides inside The Jett Building in downtown Fort Worth's ritzy tourist trap, Sundance Square.

I'm not a fan of modern day country (it's just rock 'n roll with a twang) but I am a fan of cool signs and this sign qualifies as cool.

From the dressed up cowboy roping the word "ranch" to the Texas state flag design below that to the rustic old fence that the word "ranch" is branded on.

All around cool and colorful.

If you enjoy country music check out The Ranch.

ZIPPO LIGHTER FROM VIETNAM WAR

My brother-in-law owns this Zippo lighter. I don't know the story behind it --- he wasn't in 'Nam --- but I think the lighter tells the story all by itself, at least the attitude of the chopper pilot who owned it.

CU CHI

(Click on the photo to see it large.)

FRED BURGER WITH CHEESE #2

Three ladies from work took me out to lunch and I got to choose the eatery.

I picked my favorite burger/ice cold beer dive, Fred's Texas Cafe, where my buddy, William Bryan Massey III, is the joint's head of kitchen operations and head cook.

I got the No. 1 burger in town, the Fred Burger w/cheese, which won the FW WEEKLY's 2007 Reader's Choice award for best burger.

Before devouring the mouth-watering and luscious-tasting all-American meal, I took out my travel camera, a Nikon D50 carrying a Nikkor 18-135mm AF zoom lens, and snapped this shot.

Now that you're mouths are watering I suggest you eat something immediately to satisfy your up-in-arms palette.

THE SMOKE PIT

Before there was a Hooters there was The Smoke Pit with it's bikini-topped waitresses taking your orders as you sitting there not being able to help but eye their lovely features --- bulging cleavage and tight behinds --- as you ask for a chopped bbq sandwich and an ice cold beer.

And because the bar-be-que was as good as the waitresses looked you fully enjoyed your meal at this famous Fort Worth landmark, which has been in the same location since 1953.

At lunch time you see so many pickups in the parking lot and along the streets around The Smoke Pit you'd think it was a car lot too.

Inside it's like being at home, everyone's friendly, everyone's talking. A long bar runs along the place's east side so you can come in and drink beer if that's all you intend on doing. This fantastic, beat up old joint is simply a great place to have some good redneck food and look at beautiful women work their butts off.

So, please, go to The Smoke Pit and pass on the blah, blah, blah mainstream corporate franchise nonsense known as Hooters.

(Please click on the photo so you can see all the writing on the front of the building.)

White Trash Photo Shows

Here's two video slideshows I put together using my photos, and those of some others, of my white trash redneck friends from over the past decade or so, living the low life while drinking Miller's High Life and listening to rock 'n roll like Molly Hatchet's Flirtin' With Disaster and Gary Glitter's classic arena rock anthem Rock 'N Roll, Part 2. You can also see these videos at my YouTube page. All of us somehow surviving divorces,needy friends, fucked up friends, the ups, the downs, the all-arounds, tales from Fred's Texas Cafe, cold ass beer, cheap booze, soul crushing shit jobs, pieces of shit cars, break downs --- mental and otherwise --- shopping for threads and footwear at thrift stores & flea markets, meeting all sorts of fucked up losers, freaks, weirdos and what the fucks?, suicidal depression driving us to near insanity, meandering through headbanging mid-life crisis's, doing the SSDD (same shit different day) routine, facing SNAFUs, barely making it through FUBARs, spending nights at dive bars with fellow barflies, reading Bukowski to make sense of it all, inhaling the bud, surviving chrushing thuds and and all sorts of crud.

Fuck it. Hell, yeah.

NOTE: The Anti-HeroArt.com website is no more.

SKITTLES THE YAWNING CAT

As we made a pit stop at a co-worker's house, while out perusing an estate sale and a couple of thrift stores, I took my camera inside with me and searched for Skittles the cat. She was on top of my co-worker's comfy bed fast asleep. After I woke her up I caught her in the middle of a yawn. Normally, my flash intimidates her and so I didn't have it attached to my award-winning Nikon D700, knowing how well it performs in low light.

I got this photograph while she was rising from her cap nap and stretching off the cobwebs with that big ol' yawn.

The ISO was 4500 for this shot and the in camera Noise Reduction was set at normal. I did some post production in Nikon's excellent Capture NX 2 software and you can witness the result for yourself.

I always describe cats caught in the middle of flexing their choppers 'Pavarotti Yawns' as it seems as if they're belting out a long note.

Skittles, or Skids, like most animals, has a funny side to her. She loves to "go spinning" and you can see a video of her doing just that by clicking here.