We'll the really tricky part about this was that aiming the camera meant pointing it away from me. The whole speed-of-light-deal only made things worse 'cuse it's not like I could pose then run and pick up the camera and shoot. I tried to invent a teleportation thingy because teleportation doesn't HAVE to be limited by the speed-of-light. The problem was that I didn't have the heart to destroy the subject at the original location. This problem had me stumped for about 4 months. Until I realized that there were now 8 of me, created by my unwillingness to dispose of the original me's in the teleportation experiment. So I took a picture of one and there it is. Unfortunately, 8 of me is about 8 too many. And though I was reluctant to dispose of them before, they were starting to get on my nervous. Nothing they say makes ANY sense. One of them had the NERVE to suggest that he was the original. This behavior was either going to lead to an orgy or battle royal. Since I was already Shaken up enough by this fiasco I didn't need to redefine the word "HOMO-sexual" (those of you not familiar with your prefixes, look up HOMO). The battle raged on for around 6 days. Intestines were hanging from a ceiling fan. Industrial devastation covered with blood and gore created a near morbidly poetic scene of total carnage, where broken body's and broken machines might as well have been the same thing. In the end, I can't help but wonder if the sacrifices were worth the gains. I'm not even sure if that is me in the picture anymore.