MONKEY CAR SEAT COVERS. BABY BJORN SAFETY SEAT. BUMBO BABY SEAT LILAC
Monkey Car Seat Covers
- (Seat cover) Sometimes used to describe drivers or passengers of four-wheelers.
- (Seat Cover) The vinyl material that covers the part of the bike you sit on.
- (Seat cover) attractive female in passenger seat, usually in a 4 wheeler
- tamper: play around with or alter or falsify, usually secretively or dishonestly; "Someone tampered with the documents on my desk"; "The reporter fiddle with the facts"
- imp: one who is playfully mischievous
- (in general use) Any primate
- A mischievous person, esp. a child
- A small to medium-sized primate that typically has a long tail, most kinds of which live in trees in tropical countries
- any of various long-tailed primates (excluding the prosimians)
- A road vehicle, typically with four wheels, powered by an internal combustion engine and able to carry a small number of people
- A vehicle that runs on rails, esp. a railroad <em>car</em>
- a motor vehicle with four wheels; usually propelled by an internal combustion engine; "he needs a car to get to work"
- a wheeled vehicle adapted to the rails of railroad; "three cars had jumped the rails"
- A railroad <em>car</em> of a specified kind
- the compartment that is suspended from an airship and that carries personnel and the cargo and the power plant
monkey car seat covers – Front High
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Werewolf of London aka Shadow Puppet,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Text might get long so now is the time to bail out if you want, no harm no foul…;-)
This photo is dedicated to the Master Shadow Shooter, Gary Gumanow.
Yesterday [Saturday] I had planned on heading to monkey mountain early for a shoot as it has been awhile sense being there.
Friday night I was so tired from work it was impossible to sleep until around 3AM.
Plan was to leave by 7AM but by that time my body just said No Way !
Every part of me was rebelling and tired eyes soon closed once again.
Around 8am couldn’t lay there anymore but there was just no way this trip was going to happen, had to throw in the towel.
Everyday at work I have been shooting 600-700 choreographed shots which takes about 5 hours of having a heavy D300 body with a 17-55 2,8 lens hanging from my right hand.Needless to say Foe-Toe mans body was sacked. Plus the sky had opened up and rain was coming down in buckets.
By midnight all the gear was checked and packed for this morning, providing the rain held back the trip was a go.
6am rolls around, feed the Doe Doe Dogs, eat some yogurt and tea, attach the Think Tank Belt, mount the scooter and split, ah life is good.
Humidity feels high but the sky shows only partial clouds which is a good sign for a few hours anyway as this is the monsoon season !!.
The little 125 Honda just purred down the road as I head for another adventure at Monkey Mountain. Vivid thoughts of past trips race through my mind as the distance shortens with every passing click..;-)
When arriving at the base of the mountain the first thing I noticed is the old pot holed dirt road that beat ya to death and choked you with dust, has been paved. Unbelievable like some one rolled out the Red Carpet anticipating my arrival.
Pulling up to the temple I glance over and noticed a bunch of passion fruit laying on the ground in two or three piles but No Monkeys in sight .Not good I hate it when it starts this way..;-(
Not even a single sound from a single monkey, but you could hear a Peacock squawking off in the distance which was pretty cool on the cool sounds scale I gave it an 8.
So what to do ? Well the 10-20 sigma is stashed in my belt so I figured heading half way up I could switch the lens and shoot one of the Buddha statues and I needed to have a good heart to heart with the Man too. It’s always best when I talk with the Man that it’s only him and me cuz sometimes my style of Buddhism raises an eyebrow or two….;-0
OK, lets head on up the trail, first off the place is mostly flooded by the monsoons which means all the rotting fruit, corpses and all the monkey business is soaked and floating between you and the trail head .
This place Stinks Big Time !! Every fly in all of Thailand is right here doing what flies do.
Took a while longer to circumvent most of it but still had to wade through parts.So now my feet and sandals are wet and squishy while walking.
Starting up some slick moss covered steps my ears thought they heard a monkey squeal some where up in the jungle. Waited but only heard the peacock still far off in the sea of green continuing with it’s bird sounds.Must have been my squishy sandals making funny monkey sounds, ya think ?
Cotton shirt is soaked from the climb and the humidity is starting to climb higher as I to continue climbing higher.
Once at the half way spot the jungle above me erupts into total chaos, monkeys started fighting, screaming and jumping about in the tops of the trees.
Like clock work the top of the mountain was at a fever pitch as I made the sky bridge which is also deep in stagnant water and monkey business.
Looking up at the cement structure with all the re-bar sticking out many monkeys scurried around fighting as did others in the trees surrounding the dilapidated unbuilt building.
My goal was still to reach the Buddha on the other side of the bridge so my feet kept moving forward. Once I reached the Buddha on the other side all the monkeys that were at the top now came down the trail mostly in single file, I stopped counting at 100 from a elevated position next to the Buddha statue.
The 10-20 WA Sigma lens had already been mounted so I went ahead and started shooting the Buddha and Angels surrounding him. You might remember this spot from other photos, perched high and protruding out the side of the jungle. Safety Rails, No Way !! So be careful as it is about 1 or 200 feet to the bottom.
They will be posted in the next few days.
Monkeys for the most part have all headed down to the bottom where the fruit lay waiting for them to come and eat breakfast so I decide it’s time to head down too. Buddha and Jon had a long enough talk, got everything cleared up, photos were all taken and the sun had started burning through the canopy. Right then I hear some car doors slam shut and voices chattering away at the bottom of the mountain. Didn’t take long and I see about a dozen tourists wadding through the mud at the base of the hill. Hhmm, time to drift back into
The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida. She wanted to visit some of her connections in east Tennes- see and she was seizing at every chance to change Bailey’s mind. Bailey was the son she lived with, her only boy. He was sitting on the edge of his chair at the table, bent over the orange sports section of the Journal. "Now look here, Bailey," she said, "see here, read this," and she stood with one hand on her thin hip and the other rattling the newspaper at his bald head. "Here this fellow that calls himself The Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn’t take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn’t answer to my conscience if I did."
Bailey didn’t look up from his reading so she wheeled around then and faced the children’s mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbit’s ears. She was sitting on the sofa, feeding the baby his apricots out of a jar. "The children have been to Florida before," the old lady said. "You all ought to take them somewhere else for a change so they would see different parts of the world and be broad. They never have been to east Tennessee."
The children’s mother didn’t seem to hear her but the eight-year-old boy, John Wesley, a stocky child with glasses, said, "If you don’t want to go to Florida, why dontcha stay at home?" He and the little girl, June Star, were reading the funny papers on the floor.
"She wouldn’t stay at home to be queen for a day," June Star said without raising her yellow head.
"Yes and what would you do if this fellow, The Misfit, caught you?" the grandmother asked.
"I’d smack his face," John Wesley said.
"She wouldn’t stay at home for a million bucks," June Star said. "Afraid she’d miss something. She has to go everywhere we go."
"All right, Miss," the grandmother said. "Just re- member that the next time you want me to curl your hair."
June Star said her hair was naturally curly.
The next morning the grandmother was the first one in the car, ready to go. She had her big black valise that looked like the head of a hippopotamus in one corner, and underneath it she was hiding a basket with Pitty Sing, the cat, in it. She didn’t intend for the cat to be left alone in the house for three days because he would miss her too much and she was afraid he might brush against one of her gas burners and accidentally asphyxiate himself. Her son, Bailey, didn’t like to arrive at a motel with a cat.
She sat in the middle of the back seat with John Wesley and June Star on either side of her. Bailey and the children’s mother and the baby sat in front and they left Atlanta at eight forty-five with the mileage on the car at 55890. The grandmother wrote this down because she thought it would be interesting to say how many miles they had been when they got back. It took them twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of the city.
The old lady settled herself comfortably, removing her white cotton gloves and putting them up with her purse on the shelf in front of the back window. The children’s mother still had on slacks and still had her head tied up in a green kerchief, but the grandmother had on a navy blue straw sailor hat with a bunch of white violets on the brim and a navy blue dress with a small white dot in the print. Her collars and cuffs were white organdy trimmed with lace and at her neckline she had pinned a purple spray of cloth violets containing a sachet. In case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady.
She said she thought it was going to be a good day for driving, neither too hot nor too cold, and she cautioned Bailey that the speed limit was fifty-five miles an hour and that the patrolmen hid themselves behind billboards and small clumps of trees and sped out after you before you had a chance to slow down. She pointed out interesting details of the scenery: Stone Mountain; the blue granite that in some places came up to both sides of the highway; the brilliant red clay banks slightly streaked with purple; and the various crops that made rows of green lace-work on the ground. The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled. The children were reading comic magazines and their mother and gone back to sleep.
"Let’s go through Georgia fast so we won’t have to look at it much," John Wesley said.
"If I were a little boy," said the grandmother, "I wouldn’t talk about my native state that way. Tennessee has the mountains and Georgia has the hills."
"Tennessee is just a hillbilly dumping ground," John Wesley said, "
monkey car seat covers