Hacking Something Besides Hair
The above picture was photoshopped by Michael R. in response to the way I insulted his weight. Michael, this photo is very clever -- and by clever, I mean stupid. I particularly like your use of shading, making appear as if a microwave light is shining on me from above, irradiating me. Very sophisticated, Rembrandt. Photo-realism is for people with weak imaginations, and emotional insecurities. Annie Liebowitz would have you as an appetizer – if she required food for survival. I suppose you're an Ansel Adams fan.
Well, I see that none of you has listened to my advice regarding Mr. Sick Boy. Don’t you know what a shallow, bottomless pit of narcissism you’re dealing with? Do you know anyone who uses the words “therapy,” “analysis,” “psyche,” “desire,” and “Freud” more than Chet? And this is the person upon whom you heap your nurture and good graces? Dear, sweet, knaves. I still don’t know what this “cancer” stuff means, but if I were any of you, I would have asked for copies of the scans before reserving flights. Chet would do anything for attention – anything!
He would even pretend to write as a cat!
Chet’s friend Chris came for his second treatment. There are two things I like about Chris. One is that he’s allergic to me, which meant that he left me alone. And I left you alone, too, didn’t I, Chris? I don’t understand this allergy business, though. How could someone be allergic to me? People make me sneeze, too, but you don’t see me complaining. Nonetheless, at least Chris’s “allergy” to me made Chet get off of his lazy, convalescing *&)$@ and sweep my hair off of the floor. Believe me, that’s about a 4000% improvement on his usual activity. He’s lazier than I am, and that takes quite a lot of sitting around.
Second, I like Chris’s approach to art. He’s not an emotional wreck like the modernists. And this is because he does not refuse to confront emotion in his work by trying to turn it into some set of abstract blobs, lines, and splats. I wish Chris’s art were more severe, like Annie’s, but I nonetheless admire the unabashed way in which he confront the human condition, especially in his nudes, without making his work look as if it belongs in an airport restroom (like Rothko, one of Chet’s favorites, and so a fool from the start).
Oh, and one final thing I like about Chris is that he corrects Chet’s English. Can you feel my glee? Chet, the “Professor,” the queen of manners, having his English corrected? Sweet justice! Here’s a little clue, “people”: Chetty Chet Chet does not know the difference between “like” and “as.” And he uses the word "like" AS IF (you listening, Chester?) he were a valley girl. "I'm like, so sick today. This chemo is like really awful. Oh My Gawd!" What a fop!
Then again, Chris flattered Chet by photographing him for a drawing. Again, “people,” don’t feed this bottomless-pit’s need for an ego-boost. You’re setting yourselves up. Do as I do (take note, Chet – not “like,” you bumbling goof), and ignore him.
Well, “people,” I have to go now. Chet, the local password sheriff, is getting out of the shower, and I need to finish reading an article on Anselm Kiefer (pathetic sentimentalist).
P.S. Don’t think it escaped my notice that my posts get far more response than any of Chet's. Rightfully so. And he thinks he's a "writer."