Mance Rayder's Road Manager.Photographer, art model, hooper, endearingly awkward.
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Let me tell you the story of how I hate SpaghettiOs. Most kids I knew growing up loved this stuff. All my cousins did, my siblings. So my Grandmother would cook it up and make us eat it. She was a strong Irish Catholic woman who had a tough love that you felt with a wooden spoon if you were bad. And when it came to eating foods, I was considered bad.
A lot of things make me sick. You wanna see me puke on the spot? Feed me tropical fruits like pineapple (even the smell of oranges makes my stomach turn). Or feed me SpaghettiOs. Something in them would make me throw it up right away. I remember her force feeding them to me one time, looking away for a second to see what my mother was saying to her, and coming back to me dry heaving up the last of the spoonful she fed me. Needless to say, after puking on her table, I wasn’t forced to eat them anymore.
So when Josepha decided we had to get dirty, I couldn’t think of any other way to do this picture. I have terrible ideas sometimes.