No, I'm not going to stop making these, so just keep your various pieholes zipped. This is art, dammit! It's not my fault if you Phyllis teens refuse to recognize it. Sure, I could appeal to the lowest common dominator, post stuff that makes sense and whatnot, but that's not where it's at. Your old road is rapidly fading. I'm not going to kowtow to the boozhwa hoi polloi even if it means...no, it doesn't mean anything. There are no consequences. It's just a blog. What was I thinking. I don't stand on principle. I creep on principle on my hands and knees, searching for the place where I can get the fuck off.
Big-ass version here.
It's pitiful, I know. When anything proves to be less than popular, I keep coming back to it. The psychology behind it all is too banal, too depressing. But so is all psychology. No, I kid psychology, but I love psychology, dammit. Psychology is why we do stuff, after all, and mostly don't do stuff. It's wonderful to know. But it just doesn't do a damn bit of good. It's like if I had one of those prints of my own DNA, like they had on the O.J. Simpson Show. It's really cool and stuff, but like what do you do with it? Larger version here. Link to a picture of Bart Morris, but not the real Bart Morris here.
"Friday" doesn't really exist, you know. There's no Friday in nature. Your dog doesn't sit around and wonder if today is Friday. It's purely an imaginary thing we made up so we could say TGIF. It's staggering to think about how much our lives are driven by made-up stuff. I staggered just now thinking about it. Hours, minutes, laws, borders, ideas, religions, rules, it's all this giant jury-rigged gerrymandered duct-taped rube-goldberg contraption that would collapse in a heap if it weren't imaginary. And yet we meekly stand inside it as if we were caged. Think I'll step out for a moment, have a smoke.
Great guns, Martin! Now there's something I've never had occasion to say. Until now, that is. Isn't art great? If I were an accountant, I bet I'd never get a chance to say "Great guns, Martin!" I'd be saying things like, "I believe you forgot to carry the depreciation figure from column two, Ethel." And I'd be crying inside. But out here in art world I can do anything I damn please. I could take this comic and stick it in a jar of my own urine-- and nobody could do a thing about it! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Is this a great country or what? Especially now that Allen lost.
Does anyone else think we're under attack by the sting rays? Am I the only one who sees this? Wake up, people! Inroads are being made into our freedoms even as we sleep. And I hate inroads. It's clear as my nose that we need to monitor people's lives more closely, delve into the nooks and crannies of the filthy behavior of some of our citizens, in order to safeguard our precious freedoms. And we need to stop being such crybabies about it. Just shut up, you whiners! How in the world are we going to protect our hard-won freedoms if we allow this drumbeat of cowardice and failure to continue? If we allow this to continue, then the sting rays have already won.