In 2005, back when only 17 people had Flickr accounts, I somehow stumbled across a page with 3,000 photos of mannequins in various stages of undress. As you might expect, the photos were a little “on the creepy side.”
This past weekend, after attending an Ayahuasca ceremony at a Real Doll factory, I got to wondering: “Whatever happened to that serial killer mannequin freak from Flickr?”
A search for “mannequins” these days, however, turns up nothing more than distressed shots of dismembered arms taken by art-school students. To find the link, I ended up digging through a drawer of hard-drive backup CDs from early-to-mid 2000 and opening a PDF backup of my 2005 Livejournal account. Yes! After an hour of sifting through bad poetry and references to men I never should have dated, I found him once more. Lars and the Raped Girl.
Imagine my utter glee when I saw that his Flickr account is still active and this guy has continually been uploading photos of mannequins for the past seven years! Then, imagine my abject horror when I realized—holy shit—this Flickr account is still active and this guy has continually been uploading photos of mannequins for the past seven years!
He’s now up to almost 11,000 individual images of mannequins, organized into 128 individual sets. Of mannequins. Only mannequins. There isn’t a single human being to be found among any one of the images, except for this one blurry wedding photo watching as a fiberglass Anne Bancroft acts out scenes from The Graduate.
(I may or may not have embellished that image.)
I have doubts as to whether or not it’s actually this guy’s wedding photo. I think it belongs to the family he killed in order to use their living room to jerk off on his nine billion mannequins. Or eBay. It’s your call.
Here’s something else: this home was obviously once decorated by a woman, but all current signs point to zero current female activity in the house. For example, the toiletries in the bathroom are all for an old man (Aerosol spray deodorant? Hi dad!). The home also contains rooms that clearly used to belong to a child, but the furniture is stuck in a time warp from 1981. I think he lives in a one-story ranch house, but there are often photos depicting an upstairs and an attic. At one point, he remodeled the house. I know this because there were photos of one of the mannequins helping hold a wet-dry vac.
I think he lives in Canada.
No, I am not obsessed!
I’m not going to link to his page because I don’t want him to find me and turn me into a mannequin with one of his 11,000 magical cursed necklaces. Yes, this happens in real life, too!
On to the mannequins!
In addition to mannequins sporting nude L’eggs cotton crotch pantyhose, the master bedroom also contains a suit rack for the job he can’t possibly have, a clock that 99% of the household inhabitants cannot read (not alive), and, of course, hand lotion. The girls go through a LOT of hand lotion.
Oh heavens no, we don’t want a boring church ceremony! We’ll just have the wedding right here in my dead son’s room. Let me get the guests out of their bubble wrap and we’ll begin.
Those damn nosy neighbors are always meddling! What sort of world is this where a man can’t spend quality time in the backyard with a mannequin, a camera, and a plunger without people peeking over the fence and calling the police about the smell? Animals!
Hey, it’s David Bowie! Maybe David Bowie killed the wife.
Just a normal, non-vampire, wall-facing bathroom ghost bride here. When this bride turns around she will not have a vampire face nor will she squirt blood from her eyes and mouth.
(How he imagines his life to be.)
Here’s where it gets creepy.
Sometime around July 2011, Captain Mannequin lost his mind. Yes, I realize this statement sounds redundant, since he is a man with 11,000 photos of mannequins in lingerie. But hear me out. Before July 2011, he merely had 11,000 normally insane photos of undressed mannequins. Sure, they might have been hanging around the apartment reading a book or doing yard work, but they weren’t doing anything unusual. Just normal day-to-day mannequin tasks.
After July 2011, however (I posit this is when the family in the basement finally clawed their way out) the guy suddenly starts posting photo sets in which the mannequins end up — from what I can tell — violently murdered. That is, the mannequins start off “exploring the house,” (his words) and then, all of a sudden, they are on the ground in poses that look really scary and uncomfortable and, honestly, I think he raped these mannequins.
This is the photo where you can see him really start to crack. I call this: “I need to have my bottom wiped and then be murdered.”
The horror! The horror!
Also of note: the old-man radio and the “Maritime Miscellany” book on the back of the toilet. Clues! Obviously, this is not a home with a feminine touch. That ex-wife was chopped up and shoved inside a mannequin years ago.
I couldn’t figure out how to illustrate the progression of the violence in the newer photos without linking to the Flickr account, so I put them all in an easy-to-read “LOLrape” meme format.
The gals pretty much all end up on the floor at this point. They start out doing stuff around the house, and then they hurt themselves or get tied up. Even worse, he sometimes dresses them in pajama jeans.
So, to all the feminists who are wasting everyone’s time blogging about Daniel Tosh and claiming that rape jokes cause rape, why don’t you head over to Flickr and track THIS guy down? Rape jokes cause rape? What about 11,000 fucking photos of mannequins and way too many bottles of Suave hand lotion? Why don’t you go have a chat with him about respecting women? I think he’s in Canada. Follow the smell.