it’s a new party game! it’s called drag the dead guy through the dusty streets.

i LOLed at this one. who the fuck are you people?

Today

better than ground zero mosque is mosque turned bloomingdales. woohoo!!!!!! we’ll show them frakking moooslims.

as if i needed any more proof that visual artists are somewhat, shall we say, challenged-in-the-whole-putting-intelligent-words-in-a-sensible-order-one-after-another thing, than, well, bravo’s sweet show work of art, here is yet another fine artist willing to oblige me. brendan sullivan from lvl 3′s weak sauce show feeble intimacy, and feeble it was. and what the fuck is feeble intimacy anyhow? does that even make sense? is it possible to be feeble and intimate? wouldn’t intimacy imply some sort of strength of feeling? GAWD!!!! just draw or paint or whatever you do.

here’s the totally uninteresting piece (in part):

here’s the totally obvious typo:

my suggestion, ya know, if you’re gonna print this stuff out real big and stupid,

FUCKING PROOFREAD!!!!!!!

ps. if you see any typos here. get over it, it’s a fucking blog douchebag, not my special little art show.

i need to poop. dunkin’ donuts is to blame.

i like this guy. he’s a true patriot.

children are the future. except for the sick ones.

strange birds in the alley / how many birds are buried within / birds scratch scratch scratching away

shitbag blackhawks fan: holy shit bro! we fucking won! stanley cup champs BI-ATCH!!!!!!!!!

other shitbag blackhawks fan: that’s right dude! gonna dip my cock and balls in lord stanley’s motherfucking finger bowl bitches! my NTUZ are gonna smell like lemon scented pledge! WOOOHOOO fuck yeah, SWEET!!!!!!

first shitbag blackhawks fan: yeah dude, i’m gonna take the cup up to lookout point and suck on its titties just like mary sue ellen in 11th grade!!!!!

other shitbag blackhawks fan: hells yeah dude!!!!!!!  WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS MY FRIEND!!!!!!!

first shitbag blackhawks fan: WE’LL KEEP ON FIGHTING TILL THE END!!!!! we won!!! we’re done with that shit!

other shitbag blackhawks fan: i’m gonna blow freddie mercury’s dead corpse cock!!!!!!

first shitbag blackhawks fan: huh?

other shitbag blackhawks fan: me and brain may are gonna circle jerk in lord stanley’s mother fizzer then finger paint blackhawk logos all over each others faces!!!!!!!!!!

first shitbag blackhawks fan: uh, okay. SWEET DUDE!!!! FUCK YOU PHILLY! GO HAWKS!!!!!

other shitbag blackhawks fan: wow, dude, i feel like strangely deflated somehow. like there was this illusion that somehow my life had changed followed byt eh brutal realization that it hadn’t.

first shitbag blackhawks fan: yeah, like really, this is all just some kinda fucked trick. like we filled this space in time, in our minds, with hockey and we supposedly just reached the pinnacle of that obsession, yet it all feels strangely empty and unsatisfying.

other shitbag blackhawks fan: yeah dude. I’m gonna hammer lord stanley’s cup to my chest and it will collect all my drool which i will then use to make kampucha that i will spread drink from freddie mercury dead corpse eyeball sockets!!!!!

first shitbag blackhawks fan: NOICE!!!!!!!!!

THE END

part 1, part 2

technology, sheesh! really ruins the romanticism of it all.