It's been a good while since we've simply sat and pondered a photo for photo's sake without going out on a linked limb, so let's examine the post-pubescent, extra-spatial relationship between Chris Pontius, his balls, several other balls, and all immediate witnesses thereof. Actually, let's not, because anyone who deconstructs the meaning to anything should be tried and convicted of crimes against humanity. Okay, maybe that's going a bit overboard, but can't we all just sit and enjoy an image of a man spilling out of a common hotel elevator with his umbilicus and package presented to not only the heavens above but a hefty fraction of the Nitro Circus family—Street Bike Tommy and Andy Bell, to be precise—and the wilderiest nine-and-one-quarter fingered man on Earth, Manny Puig? I would sure hope so, but I'm naturally the hopeful sort and will spring eternal as such until the last of my pseudo-cynical waylaid days.
Tune in next week* for another negligible installment of Art Sharts to see further shots of shit** with accompanying senseless*** rants about nothing in sharticular at all!
* Complimentary cheese and crackers not included.
** Offer void in Delaware until its existence is proven otherwise.
(Photo by Sean Cliver; Orlando, Florida 2010)