OK, I typed in that headline, went to my Media Library, and said, “I can’t use that!” to every monster picture I saw. What the hell, me? Why don’t I just take a blogger’s sick day and drive on. All I want to do is knit and watch true crime television anyways. And now I have to go turn the meatballs again.
There. I was cooking with wine, and now I’m letting the bowties cook for another ten minutes. I could do a cooking post, since I am getting a little creative, but, dammit, I’m in the mood for monsters.
OK, they haven’t made the monster yet, but what an atmospheric shot.
I do like a grey shot of a cemetery. And just look at all those crooked gravestones. I always heard that when a gravestone was tipped, it meant the soul that had been buried there walked. I say cool, although others may say it’s just erosion. I try not to argue with such people.
I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he is definitely more ambitious than I am this evening.
Here’s the monster! Yes, he is Frankenstein’s monster or The Monster, not Frankenstein. I personally do not have a problem with anybody calling him Frankenstein, although I think “Frankie” is a little precious. However, I am not the arbiter of these things.
Sometimes we all need a little help from a friend.
To round things out with three pictures, here is The Monster having a tea break. Ah, tea. Perhaps I will have a cup. After my glass of wine. It is Friday, after all.
Mohawk Valley Girl 