The Treehouse + The Cave

The Treehouse + The Cave: Wilmoth <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src=""></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: '\x3d9561264\x26blogName\x3dThe+Treehouse+%2B+The+Cave\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3d\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3d\x26vt\x3d455617431721372491', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Saturday, March 26, 2005



Aaron and Heather have a habit of checking in on our hometown paper's "Celebrations" section every few weeks, to see which of our high school classmates are getting engaged, married; which families are expanding, which contracting; who's siblings are graduating college; which doctors are now delivering the newborns. They're pathological about it, each one always hoping that there'll be some particularly juicy gossip (or even better, juicy images) to forward to the other.

While laying in bed killing some time on the web together yesterday (we just regained fully functional broadband, and are both ecstatic), Heather started to trawl the Gazette-Mail while I read over her shoulder. After determining that Spring was coming, that all the good announcements would soon run, and then analyzing the quality of retouching a West Virginian Olan Mills can provide, we ventured (still wanting more) into the "Congratulations" section where I saw the above image of Lucille Wilmoth (Mama Cillie), and consequently spouted: "That's the scariest painting I've ever seen." It of course, it is not a painting (though I'm tempted to break out the oils, trust me). It's just a terrifyingly lo-res image of an haggard woman, distorted by pure, uncut evil.

Blogger Mick thought:

Mama Cillie gives me cold chills too.

So much like HLS' days at the Bible Center...

March 29, 2005 at 4:43 AM - Comment Permalink  

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