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There ain’t no way I’m gonna let tha’ moddafucker poop on my parade!’ (Oscar Wilde - drunk)
All kinds of people enter an art gallery:
- Wayward tourists asking if they can use our toilet (the joke’s on them: our toilet paper is rougher than sandpaper!!!)
- Pretend-businessmen who claim to have lost their wallets asking for 2 euro to make a life-saving phonecall (we offer them to just use our phone, which is when their whole scheme-to-get-drug-money instantly collapses and they rush off, crying over their defeat)
- My imaginary friend Fritz, the three-armed-no-legged boy I talk to when there is nobody in the gallery (he smells like decomposing bunnies, so our talks are always somewhat ‘strained’)
- Deaf and blind people: strangely enough, this group of people is overrepresented in the art world. They sneek into galleries, as if they are thieves, secretly snatching wallets from unsuspecting businessmen (see above), taking in the art (which they can’t even see!), and then head off, having farted (on average) three times in my air space without even acknowledging my existence. If ten people in a row enter the gallery like this, I always start to doubt whether or not I am actually just a figment of my own imagination (think about this for too long and your head will explode, so be careful). In the end, I solve my doubt by smacking my head hard against my desk (thus forcing the tenth visitor to acknowledge my existence).
- Evil people: they are the ones who storm into the gallery, call me FAT! and then run off laughing diabolically (we get a lot of those)
- Talkative people: the underrepresented ones. If you don’t have any money, most gallery people will vomit all over you if you ask them a question. We like to think that we are different (hence the ‘ab-’ prefix to our normality). In an ideal world, anyone who was once deaf and blind can come in and talk to me (ideally bringing a bottle of wine, because I already spent my 2000 euro wine budget for the month). I am open for fondling too, though initially, I prefer it to take place above the waist (I don’t want to get pregnant, you know). Maybe it is time for this last group to come out of the closet. If you open our door, just come to me, fall to your knees and donate your proverbial... err.... kidneys (‘heart’ would have been to cheesy, which is why I went for ‘kidneys’, without them, we wouldn’t know the glee of pee!)! So share yourself, with me and with the world!
I rest my case.
Dictated but not read,
TIM @ Abnormals
All kinds of people enter an art gallery:
- Wayward tourists asking if they can use our toilet (the joke’s on them: our toilet paper is rougher than sandpaper!!!)
- Pretend-businessmen who claim to have lost their wallets asking for 2 euro to make a life-saving phonecall (we offer them to just use our phone, which is when their whole scheme-to-get-drug-money instantly collapses and they rush off, crying over their defeat)
- My imaginary friend Fritz, the three-armed-no-legged boy I talk to when there is nobody in the gallery (he smells like decomposing bunnies, so our talks are always somewhat ‘strained’)
- Deaf and blind people: strangely enough, this group of people is overrepresented in the art world. They sneek into galleries, as if they are thieves, secretly snatching wallets from unsuspecting businessmen (see above), taking in the art (which they can’t even see!), and then head off, having farted (on average) three times in my air space without even acknowledging my existence. If ten people in a row enter the gallery like this, I always start to doubt whether or not I am actually just a figment of my own imagination (think about this for too long and your head will explode, so be careful). In the end, I solve my doubt by smacking my head hard against my desk (thus forcing the tenth visitor to acknowledge my existence).
- Evil people: they are the ones who storm into the gallery, call me FAT! and then run off laughing diabolically (we get a lot of those)
- Talkative people: the underrepresented ones. If you don’t have any money, most gallery people will vomit all over you if you ask them a question. We like to think that we are different (hence the ‘ab-’ prefix to our normality). In an ideal world, anyone who was once deaf and blind can come in and talk to me (ideally bringing a bottle of wine, because I already spent my 2000 euro wine budget for the month). I am open for fondling too, though initially, I prefer it to take place above the waist (I don’t want to get pregnant, you know). Maybe it is time for this last group to come out of the closet. If you open our door, just come to me, fall to your knees and donate your proverbial... err.... kidneys (‘heart’ would have been to cheesy, which is why I went for ‘kidneys’, without them, we wouldn’t know the glee of pee!)! So share yourself, with me and with the world!
I rest my case.
Dictated but not read,
TIM @ Abnormals
