View allAll Photos Tagged RIP
Rip Lee Pryor blows it out at the Delta Cultural Center at the 2013 King Biscuit Blues Festival in Helena, Arkansas. Rip says his harmonica and mic brace is a one-of-kind, custom job.
I added the lens flare by left hand, but idk how the other lens flare got in the pic since i was shooting inside with minimal light.
Also i added the rip curl live the search for shits n giggles. Props to their brand check em out.
Russian fans brought thousands of flowers and photos to American Embassy in Moscow to show their sadness. I think, it's the best way to remember Michael Jackson.
After fighting cancer for four years, Jade finally crawled into Elegba's room last night, fell asleep and didn't wake up.
The Busby Babes being remembered at the Museum & various items on display relating to Sir Matt Busby's Manchester United side that played their final European Cup match before disaster struck.
Rest In Peace, Munich 1958.
He died in a car crash, and he worked in car movies (Fast and Furious) only 40 years old... Well.. Life goes on... :( REST IN PEACE PAUL!!!! YOU WILL BE MISSED!!!:-(
On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes—it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. “Surely,” thought Rip, “I have not slept here all night.” He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of liquor—the mountain ravine—the wild retreat among the rocks—the woe-begone party at ninepins—the flagon—“Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!” thought Rip—“what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle!”
He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen.
Rip Van Winkler Washington Irving published in 1819