Skip to main content

She's dead. Wrapped in plastic.


Henry has graciously agreed to offer up one of his photographs as fodder for an experiment in digital manipulation.

This one has all of the hallmarks of great photojournalism. A body has been found, foul play suspected, yet no motive nor suspect to speak of. The police are at wits' end, and a keen amateur sleuth is called up to investigate, with little more than a magnifying glass, a stick and a keen sense of justice.
Labels:

Comments

Reyjr said…
cute kid. cool photo!
15 March 2009 at 12:59
Anonymous said…
Who is Laura Palmer?

Do I win??!
15 March 2009 at 16:10
KL said…
What is it with these 2 year olds and sticks? I spend the weekend with a 2year old and all she wanted to do is go out of the house, play in the snow, swim in frozen rivers and move around with big branches and sticks!!! In house, she could not get the sticks, so what she will do? Take a big umbrella and pretend that it is a big stick and move around!!
17 March 2009 at 09:26
Kris McCracken said…
Reyjr, he is tops.
17 March 2009 at 12:05
Kris McCracken said…
Tania, even Jen got that pop culture reference...
17 March 2009 at 12:05
Kris McCracken said…
KL, a stick can be anything you like, with a bit of imagination.
17 March 2009 at 12:05
Anonymous said…
Even Jen?
Pfft
17 March 2009 at 15:26
Kris McCracken said…
Tania, I will concede that I always thought that it went "She's dead Harry, wrapped in plastic". My memory must have been deceiving me.

You should test Jen one time on pop culture references. I put it down to her parents being ABC Nazis.
17 March 2009 at 15:35
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral
5 comments
Read more

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke
38 comments
Read more

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.
36 comments
Read more