Yup: wish ah were dead. Dead, dead. Kill me now. Putcher Winchester upta ma temple, press the bar’l gently ‘gainst mah head, and jes squeeze. Go’won, do it.

There are no notations in the Dorcus archives for this photo; it simply appears. There were rumors in the mid60s that Raoul had designed a line of men’s house dresses, but that the line met with such resistance that all evidence was “lost,” the designs “misplaced,” the photos “mislaid” and the designers “shot with a .357 nickel-plated pistol, driven to a marsh in New Jersey and buried by the big tree stump across from the IHOP off exit 67.”

As for this photo, one can only speculate about the model’s thoughts.
Perhaps he’s just the happiest man in the world right now, because he has a cup of coffee in his hand and it’s got two ounces of Jim Beam swirling around that rich Folger’s goodness. Maybe he’s thinking about the money this gig will bring - sure, it’s humiliating, but who’s gonna see it? The boys down at the plant don’t read annya them fashion magazines. And if they do, well, I got a football in my hand. That ought to reassure them. Sure the hell reassures me; if that fella who’s shooting the pictures tries to take it away again, he’s going to find out what it feels like to get a pigskin suppository. Ah’m guessin’ the stitches don’t feel all that good goin’ in or goin’ out.

Luckily, Raoul abandoned his mid-60s plan to put men in dresses.