If a picture is worth a thousand words, then it should also be worth at least a T-shirt. I mean, don’t you think?
That being said, I want to host a little contest here on my blog. See the horrific photo below? There is a true and truly terrifying story behind it. There are people in my life who are well-acquainted with that story, and those people cannot share that story here because it would ruin things for everyone else.
This contest is still open to those people however, as the rules allow them to choose option #2 below. Here is how to participate:
1) In the comments box below, tell the story of this photo. I realize you will be guessing about the circumstances that led to it being taken. This is acceptable. This is, in fact, the point. Flesh out the story like a true writer, but limit yourself to 500 words. Be compelling.
2) If you know the story behind this photo, create an alternate explanation for its existence. In a parallel universe, this photo exists. Tell us the story behind the photo. Again, flesh out the story like a true writer, but limit yourself to 500 words.
In the comments box, please indicate whether you are choosing option #1 or #2. Failure to do this will disqualify you. Because I am on a power trip, and it is fun.
I will select an impartial 3rd party to judge the entries (to-be-determined), and the winner will win a T-shirt (like the ones listed here) designed by me. If you like any art in particular on my site and it is not among the T-shirt options, I will even go so far as to customize a design for you.
The winner will be revealed on Thursday, June 30th. On that day, I will also share the real account behind this photo. Prepare to be horrified, children.
ADDENDUM (6/14/11): I have added the T-shirt design depicted in the graphic above (and below) as a possible option. My Twitter handle is @Saint_Upid, and it is sort of my online identity in general. If I am a saint at all, I am a stumbling one – a boneheaded one. 
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5 comments
Jennifer Harris Dault says:
May 29, 2011
Not. Fair.
jefferson deskin says:
May 29, 2011
It is someones horrible punishment for mouthing off in the work place or a bet gone horribly awry can not decide
Jen says:
May 31, 2011
That’s poor Chaddy in there, working his way through grad school wearing tights and a paint can. The man in the orange shirt and hat stalked him all day until he could get a surreptitious photo of the paint can and himself.
Richard says:
May 31, 2011
Option 1: “My Husband, the Paint Can.”
After awhile, being a paint can stopped being Jerry’s part-time career and became his full-time reality.
One Sunday morning at breakfast he plopped himself down across from the children at the table in full paint-can regalia, his stubby paint-can arms flailing uselessly for a biscuit. Naturally, I assumed he had a gig that morning, standing beside the road at Ed’s Hardware, a faithful mascot, bobbing and waving at potential customers. But wasn’t Ed’s closed on Sundays? I inquired about his plans.
He looked at me strangely. “I’m going to church, honey,” he said. “Like always.” A dab of jelly had spilled across the front of his costume. Grape. It looked like paint.
I rolled my eyes, assuming this was some sort of prank. Jerry was prone to shenanigans. I watched him poking at the children with his thick white gloves. They giggled. After breakfast I got them ready for church, assuming I’d return to find Jerry dressed and ready himself.
He was waiting in the car. Still in his paint can. This was going to be the talk of the town in Dalton, Missouri. A prank gone too far. I didn’t even bother to chastise him. We were running late, as usual.
I joke, now, three years later, but this was a hard transition, watching your husband begin to live life as a paint can. We saw a therapist in St. Louis, a Dr. Fields, who settled on the following verdict after a few months of watching a giant paint can recline on his office couch: Jerry was suffering from a “mental break,” probably the result of his “reduced circumstances” in these “troubling economic times,” the embarrassment of going from successful architect to part-time mascot in the space of a few months. There was a good chance Jerry would come out of it, Dr. Fields reported, as if Jerry were in a sort of coma. And I suppose he sort of was. Or, rather, is. A paint can coma.
Luckily the citizens of small-town Missouri knew Jerry well enough, pre-paint can, that they acclimated pretty quickly. After all, it wasn’t like this was a foreigner invading their space, perhaps plotting something devious from inside that puffy paint can shell. This was Jerry. Good old Jerry. He’d built some of their houses. Now he wore a paint can to church. We adjusted.
Look at us posing along the riverfront with friends in this recent photo. I’m in my Welcome to Las Vegas shirt, the souvenir of a vacation from simpler times, before my husband was a paint can. But we don’t seem THAT odd, do we? Jerry’s smile may be painted on, sure, but somewhere underneath is still the man I married.
Jake says:
Jun 13, 2011
Larry reached out to touch the invisible wall in front of him. Next, his arms went to the unseen sides of the box he was trapped in. An audience gathered as the box got smaller and the can-of-paint-gone-mime shared his best performance yet. When the box was too small to contain his cylinder of a body, he pretended to break the walls down in a show of strength that nobody expected. It was awe-inspiring. He had been practicing this a lot and performing for his friends and family whenever they’d watch.
Larry had always been a performer. He played the clarinet and the guitar, took dancing lessons for about two years and had even started juggling torches and breathing fire at one point. That proved to be more dangerous than he had imagined, but then again, Larry never really knew how flammable his blue paint was.
The mime thing, his most recent dream was turning out well. This photo was taken after that great performance. People from the crowd always wanted their pictures taken with him and Larry was more than happy to oblige. He knew that someday, he’d make it big. He’d find himself on a Las Vegas stage, or in a music video on MTV. He just had to keep at it. Larry had to keep looking to the future and working his act.