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.

my tree:

my dinner, garnished w fresh basil from “the garden”:

sweet plates:

these colours don’t run!

hear you shat your woman down….

check out the sweet separate beds in top image!

fuck, i’m really tired. feel sorta shitty. need to post something though.

so, i was at a “sober” party last week and there were kids playing beer pong w/ red bull. wtf. really on all counts: sober party , red bull, etc. sounds like a recipe for fucking disaster. and an anxiety attack.

then, at the dodo fest, something slightly more amusing but equally pathetic: bros playing actual beer pong in mexican wrestling masks.

so the do-division street fest is this weekend and i spent too may hours their yesterday listening to shitty bands, eating overpriced crap and looking at crappy “artisanal” jewelry. rather than dwell on the myriad expressions of shit, i will report upon the few positive moments in otherwise dreary, dull, fuckwadity.

Travis doing his flips:

i said, “oh my goodness gracious!” and then laugh like a retarded nasal tool who is allergic to milk. what the fuck. i need an apron and more fiber in my diet.

the infamous “rape drums” of division

Pelican was the only band i gave a fuck about set to play, so at 7 (the time stated in the promotional material for Pelican) i moved over to the proper stage to see these dimfuck bastards with their pop top uberfag music.

NOT PELICAN

thankfully this was rectified.

PELICAN

my buddy, a drummer of no small skill, spent much of the time viciously mocking pelican’s drummer, and yes, after being so edumacated, he sucks balls. but it was good show. this was followed by rain.

view of the lyric opera house from the river. apparently it was built by a guy who then became penniless and destitute and altogether fucked up, drunk and miserable. at least he had carmen. 

nice detailing:

in the words of kanye west, “my friend shows me pictures of his kids and i show him pictures of my cribs.”

suck my pathos jack.

“yes my friend, the vagina of the giant spring hare is most succulent. please sample, but do not become greedy. it will ruin a man. your wife will seem a dry husk, your daughter no better.”

bill jr., he was a daredevil!!!!!