This is the Village Voice picture Velociman referred to.

Brought to you by the Sensitive Left.

Today I finally picked up the photos I took at the Blogtoberfest with the disposable camera I bought in Helen. The film had 27 exposures, and I think I remember taking about 10 pictures. The next thing I knew (after a bit of Georgia “wine”), the little window on the top of the camera showed “0”. As such, I had no idea what the hell was on that film.

After picking the prints at CVS, I flipped on the interior light in the car so I could see what I (or someone else, for all I know) thought worthy of a photograph. Truth be told, I was hoping for one or two pictures that would permit me to exact a bit of revenge or a bit of beer money in the form of a payoff for not posting them.

They are the shittiest pictures I have ever seen.

I definitely cannot quit my day gig to be a photographer. Even before the Georgia “wine,” (albeit on Saturday morning, when I was still a little ragged around the edges), my finger found its way to the front of the farookin’ lens of the camera, leaving me with pictures of the center of Helen, Georgia along with my middle finger.

It was downhill from there. The post-dinner, drunken brawl cocktail party, indoor pictures are all a lovely battleship gray, because I (or someone else, for all I know) failed to press the little button on the front of the camera to turn on Mr. Flash.

I was particularly disappointed to see that the only picture of V-man I have (other than the one capturing his Whitey Ford delivery of a half a damned sponge ball) is a photo of the left half of his face, which would be the half that looks like Al Gore. Bummer.

I do, however, have pictures of the other guy getting a pedicure (and a manicure), but others have already posted virtually the same pictures.

Tomorrow I will flip through them again to see whether any are worth scanning and posting, but I doubt it, dammit.

Therefore, next year, in addition to bringing Ken, my bodyguard, I might also have to bring a photographer who drinks nothing stronger than water and whose assignment it will be to get the goods on this guy.

Ansel Adams I am not.