Modern Art

                                                  SHIT FOR SHITHEADS

     "This is Louella Lubricity with NPR and Art Corner. Thank you listeners and welcome. Today we are privileged to share a tete a tete with a rising star in the San Francisco art scene, Buck Spike. At times branded an outsider, often recognized as a rebel and even once or twice accused of being a figurative painter in disguise, his distinctive abstract art offers diffusive scents of the artist's oft proclaimed disgust with modern art and its reflection of modern life. We now join him at his latest show, Shit For Shitheads. Mr. Spike, the title of your show is controversial to say the least, almost an occlusion for the viewer."
     "Well then, let's get things flowin' again."
     "Um, by all means, Mr. Spike. Can you describe your new show and give us a peek into your artistic process? I hear you are most definitely breaking new ground."
     "All these canvases start their lives out by the side of the terlet, babe. And call me Buck. I just keep wipin' me ass with 'em until I am satisfied they will appeal to some shithead with a lotta moola. I call the routine ‘Wipe, Stretch, Sell’."
     (Laughter)
     "Very amusing, Mr. Sp - Buck. I must admit, the limited palette and lumpy impasto give credence to the effect you are implying."
     "I ain't implying nothin', Doll."
     "City code and the Health Department notwithstanding, Buck, if what you are suggesting is true, don't you ever worry that potential patrons would be put off by the medium itself?"
     "The fact that there's shit smeared all over the canvases they're lookin' at is the sellin' point. When some double dipshit buys a painting and has a party for his double dipshit friends, they gotta have some shit too. It's the same old story, from high colonics to $300 a pound turd coffee."
     "Turd coffee?"
     "Civet turds, monkey turds, elephant turds take yer pick."
     "Yes, I see, very well, Buck, assuming that's the case and far be it from me to poopoo the latest idiosyncratic trends in consumerism or modern art, do you feel that you are following in the footsteps of all artists by participating in the age old tradition of giving a part of yourself in your art?"
     (Laughter)
     "I don't know what the fuck yer talkin' about, darlin'. I just decided what with all the shit out there passin' as art at jack ass jingo prices, I might as well sell all these moronic shit heads the real thing. It's a lot less work and I don't have to pay fer toilet paper."
     "That's all well and good, Buck but I can't help waxing philosophically that your abstracted imagery at the very least explores the coexistence of light and darkness, understanding and misunderstanding, purity and pollution."
     "It's just a buncha shit, lady."
     (Laughter)
     "Thank you, Buck. Shit For Shitheads lasts through the middle of July but if you go, plan on just taking a look at the art. The show is sold out. This is Louella Lubricity with NPR and Art Corner. Be sure to tune in next week. Thank you, listeners and good night."

CR
Rick Hill

Dick and Me

  

                                       DICK AND ME

   The Holiday season always makes me a bit nostalgic and this year led me back to Dick Cheney and our brief affinity in the late nineties. It was magic, just magic. Instant love. Shortly after we first met, Bubbles and I (I called him Bubbles) spent a weekend together at his insistence at the perfect getaway, Disney World, Orlando. We had such a good time that Dick invited his Tootsie Roll (he called me Tootsie Roll) for a long weekend at his time share condo at Disney’s Old Key West Resort. It sounded like a blast to me so I arranged to take some time off from my job at Lockheed Martin. Back then when we weren’t in each other’s arms, Dick and I would spend hours on the phone almost every day. We were finalizing plans of where we would meet, how we would get there and so on (at one point, Dick suggested we take a Disney cruise from New York to Miami!) when all of a sudden everything went dead. I was in Colorado and he was in DC and I didn’t hear from him for a couple of days. When I called him, there was no answer, nothing. Finally a maid picked up the phone and told me that someone had showed up at Dick’s door and the two of them had been inseparable ever since, someone by the name of Dubya.
   The one thing that pisses me off more than anything is betrayal so I definitely was not going to let this Dubya dip shit get away with running off with my Bubbles and making a fool of me to boot. I thought of a friend of mine I’d  worked with on Hellfire missile development at Lockheed who had recently joined the NSA. I helped him get through a nasty divorce and I was sure he would be glad to return the favor. I wasn’t interested in, how shall I say it, getting anything done to Dick and the little Jezebel. I just wanted to know what the hell happened. My friend was glad to oblige. You can imagine my shock when I was told not only were they planning to run off together, they were planning to run off with the country as well. My feelings for Dick notwithstanding, I just couldn’t imagine him at the helm of the greatest country on earth especially with a little shit for brains pile of potato peels at his side. That was when my friend showed me the photo of the two of them in a huge red Chevy convertible on their way to Disneyland Park. That’s right, Disneyland Anaheim, the original Disneyland, The Holy Grail.  The enigmatically attractive look of menacing thuggery that so often graced Dick’s face had warped into a demented sadistic mask and the hysterically crazed expression on his new pet's face was truly terrifying. The idea of the two of them getting anywhere near the White House shot a spear of ice up my spine. Thank God reality intervened. Let it go, I said to myself. You’ll never see either one of them again.