This is a car.  This is a car on meth.  There is no fucking way other than speed that anyone would have the time, energy, and meticulous attention to detail that created the “decorations” on this car.  There are shells, both sea- and ammunition.  There are skulls – animal, “human,” real, and fake.  Dolls and doll parts have been utilized in unspeakable (and unwritable) ways.

This car was difficult not to notice, and it definitely runs because I only saw it on the Mission/Bernal Heights border that one day.

San Francisco has its share of stupid-looking cars.  For the most part I don’t take photos of the vehicles because I don’t want to chance the cars’ owners seeing me take ‘em.  I don’t want the “artists” to think that I’m either 1) appreciating their “artistry,” or 2) – which is much more likely – making fun of their stupidity.  The artisan of this fine rolling behemoth of modern art was nowhere around when I snapped these rather mediocre photos.  I’m glad, because I certainly would not want to have to engage in conversation with anyone who would do this to a car.

Conversation would involve me asking how long it took and asking about various details, all whilst trying to keep a straight face.  I would have needed to get away quickly so as not to laugh.  Because someone who would do this to a car may not understand why his hard work wasn’t truly appreciated.

I swear.  True story.

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