This is my favorite of the Wars on Kinkade series by Roland Deschane.
I like that the perspective of the cottage draws the eye to the subtly-added AT-ATs.
It may be lame to criticize art that is so close to perfect, but I wish he had made the moon sliver into a Death Star sliver. I hope he continues to make these and starts adding Rebel Alliance stuff, particularly lightsabers, just for the tagline:
Thomas Kinkade - Painter of Lightsabers.
Something was strange when I woke up. Well, my brain is always there when I wake up, so something is always strange. Today something new was strange.
It seemed like the whole house was vibrating. It was a low, indistinct rumbling. I went out on the back porch to locate the source. It seemed to be coming from that general direction, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.
It seems like it’s being generated by a very large machine, but machines that big at some point ramp up their engines to do whatever they do. This one just constantly rumbles. The sound is at the very low end of human hearing. I’m sure it extends below that frequency, too. I wish I had a microphone that could capture it for you.
It’s been going on all day. The sound is so low that it seems to emanate from everywhere. It’s not coming from somewhere. It’s around me. I’m in it.
It’s like I’m in the bowels of the Death Star, with its immense power source in the center rumbling through the entire structure.
Sounds that low and powerful have been said to have an emotional effect. I believe it. I feel uneasy. There’s a sense of foreboding, as if something is about to go very wrong.
I had to find out what it was. I drove down the street, hoping I wasn’t going to encounter a Death Star. That’ll seriously ruin your whole day.
I saw a sign indicating there was road work ahead. I bet they’re paving. Those modern street pavers churn a huge mass of tar and aggregate and lay it down slowly in a wide swath. That would account for the Death Star rumble.
I just wish the feeling that the Emperor is about to visit would go away.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Disco Toilet! It’s up all night to get lucky being the receptacle for human waste!
It’s plastic, it’s clear, it’s glittery, it’s Disco Toilet!This is where you put your face during a rough bout of Saturday Night Fever.
From what I gather, women have a hard enough time verifying what they sit their naked asses down on. They don’t need a translucent toilet seat and cover to make it even more difficult to determine what they’re about to rest their naughty bits on.