Do you remember Hunter S. Thompson? He wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, "gonzo" journalism. Apparently, this is a line of beer in honor of him. I'm not sure what's more fun, photographing the bottles, or drinking the beer!
I put them in my window to photograph, so I could blow out the backgrounds. My neighbor across the yard watched me, probably wondering what I was doing. But I don't care; there's nothing that I could do that would be weirder than these neighbors. These are the same neighbors that gave my husband a bag of dog poop one day. The man-neighbor rang our front doorbell and handed my husband a paper lunchbag. Doug said, "what's this?," looking inside, probably thinking it was donuts. The guy said, "I think your dog left this in my grass."
Well, I hate to dispute his poop-identity forensic skills, but the beautiful Ms. Bonnie only frequents our thoroughly fenced-in back yard. In her younger days, she might escape out the front door and race across the street (opposite direction of poop-neighbor), to the pooch parlor to check her email, but I usually was in hot pursuit with a dog treat (or piece of styrofoam because I could fool her.)
We just don't walk our dog through other people's lawns. Doug just looked at poop-neighbor and said, "OK" with a look and that tone of voice that also says, "What are you? Some kind of crazy nut, addled fool?" and walked the poop-present to the garbage.
I'm not sharing my Hunter S. Thompson beer with the poop-neighbor even if it was an innocent case of mistaken excrement identity, and Hunter would agree with this!