I am picturing the effort put into set-dressing and posing by this man as he took this photo. The delicate balancing of the gun, the careful perspective on the knife-wielding porno-vacuum, selecting the right room in the suburban McMansion with the faux-wood flooring as a backdrop (no effeminate carpet here!), the careful coordination of the olive drab canvas watchstrap with the olive drab plastic gun and its canvas strap, a very carefully placed weight on the edge of frame (must be careful not to dent the extremely fragile faux-wood flooring), and the overwrought placement of a gold bar peering out of the gun like it’s a phone propped up for a video call.
But most of all: the overly-exaggerated tension in the left hand furiously clutching an empty bottle of mid-range mass-market Canadian larger favoured by accountants and middle managers in the 1990s. Moosehead: the Heineken of the north, at least according to your dad. There’s so much detail, so much going on, it’s very hard to pick a favourite.
I am picturing the effort put into set-dressing and posing by this man as he took this photo. The delicate balancing of the gun, the careful perspective on the knife-wielding porno-vacuum, selecting the right room in the suburban McMansion with the faux-wood flooring as a backdrop (no effeminate carpet here!), the careful coordination of the olive drab canvas watchstrap with the olive drab plastic gun and its canvas strap, a very carefully placed weight on the edge of frame (must be careful not to dent the extremely fragile faux-wood flooring), and the overwrought placement of a gold bar peering out of the gun like it’s a phone propped up for a video call.
But most of all: the overly-exaggerated tension in the left hand furiously clutching an empty bottle of mid-range mass-market Canadian larger favoured by accountants and middle managers in the 1990s. Moosehead: the Heineken of the north, at least according to your dad. There’s so much detail, so much going on, it’s very hard to pick a favourite.