Hey, Fuckle. This is your long-lost cousin, Fuckel.

There is, but, like, please pretend that you don't know that, at least for a little while. It'd sort of defeat the purpose of the whole thing, you know?

All hail.

It makes the colors really pop, and, also, gives a very neat feeling of depth to the objects on the screen.

Great stuff! It'd be fun to see some more of these in the future (and I'd be lying if I said I won't be praying that you end up tackling some pics featuring a certain hazardous equine).

I actually went ahead and looked up the original version of this picture, just so I could make a side-by-side comparison, and, I must say, you improved so much these past few years.

Your utilization of shadows, particularly, has gotten a lot better over time, in my opinion.

beware

No response could be more acidic, however, than the fact that they won't.

That every night, the bouncing of their buttocks, the humiliating tool of your misery and of your partner's demise, haunts your nightmares, and that they are not, and will never be, aware of it.

Across the left cheek, a dark-red mixture of blood and juice. It became nearly invisible as the giant walked back to their bicycle, thick rear swaying with every step.

They left the scene without a second thought.

Sometimes, you wonder how they'd react if they only knew.

They drank some water, panting and sweaty and red with exhaustion. Two or three minutes went by before they got up, though it felt like an hour to you.

A sound similar to that of scotch tape being ripped off could be heard once the polyester-clad rear was raised from the impromptu bench.