Licketysplit is flying back today from the Galapagos. She says that the little creatures are indeed still evolving. I refuse to believe it, until I see actual proof of their hooked beaks, and their gaping craws. What? Oh, my fact checker says she was actually in Baltimore. Oh yes, we have a fact checker now. No more wild claims such as “3 cheese Doritos are low in Tar”, or “ugly people have lives, too”. Oh, Baltimore, it is too bad that domestic flights no longer offer food service, or I am sure you would be enjoying some embattled string beans with a frisson of watery melted butter.
While she was off, agog at the chancred locals, I prepared myself for the annual urban warfare that normally follows the winning of the Super Bowl. My disappointment is severe. ALLSTON, You Do Not Know How to Riot. I will sue the first person that even attempts to call that shameful non-event a Riot. Where once we saw burning couches and drunken students tumbling from the tops of lampposts and hopefully fracturing their spines, we now have cheerful people milling about, occasionally whooping and communing with one another, their happiness at the outcome. Fie!
Someone suggested recently that I “shove my f@&*ing copycat Alice Neel paintings up my f@#$ing a^&”. Needless to say it turned out to be a fat person who has a live journal for their dog, and not the Village Voice. Though grateful for the input, I continue nonetheless to paint. When it is working, it is nothing less than a conversation with angels. Most recently, I have shaken hands with the president, and we are lighting the cigars, because I am selling two large paintings to our fancy new offices on the 22nd floor of this tower. I won’t say how much, I will only say that the drinks are on me, just this once.
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