Macaroni Pictures: When it’s not “good”, it’s just “good compared to your usual crap”. +PLUS+ #CocksNotGlocks shout-out!


Herewith my first stumbling attempt to use acrylic paint and canvas: My “painting” (I gagged a little bit when I said that) on the left, my photo on the right.

Oh, it is not.  Oh, stop it.   Really?  You think so?

I call this kind of work “macaroni pictures”. This subtle-as-an-alt-right-with-a-brick allusion is to the work that I produced, alongside my tiny, hapless colleagues, in kindergarten: bits of dried macaroni stuck haphazardly on construction paper.

This you would bring home to your mother.

“Oh my, would you look at that!” mine would exclaim, crushing out her Player’s A King Sized. Her compliments, with hindsight, were almost forensically non-committal, but always expressed with the forced gaiety and vocal extravagance of a coloratura soprano warming up for the sock-it-to-’em act one finale.

And she would give me a quick cigarette-breath kiss, with just enough enthusiasm to convince a needy six-year-old but not enough to cause me physical trauma through any swift, unintentional contact with her granite-solid hairdo, then stick the macaroni picture on the door of our avocado-green fridge.

My picture would quietly disappear a few days later, like the victim of a Stalinist purge, possibly incorporated into a plate of Kraft Dinner and hot dogs (and in my mother’s case, also possibly incorporating the construction paper); and my brief stab of sorrow at its passing was more than balanced by the flicker of relief that no macaroni picture existed as proof of my total inadequacy.

The whole episode, in fact, was a lesson in middle-class “whatever is unpleasant yet necessary shall be done but not discussed”, a fine-art version of eating the family pet.

“Macaroni picture” thus became my rubric for any creative attempt that falls laughably short in the objective scheme of things when measured against those with true talent (0 on a scale of 1 to 10, let’s say), yet still demands our unbridled enthusiasm towards the perpetrator because it’s “a good attempt FOR  A —

[six-year-old / mentally challenged co-worker/ recovering alcoholic / soon-to-be-ex partner]”

or whichever clingy, whiny bag of ballast you need to validate at that moment in order to ensure your and their mental well-being and make them shut the fuck up.

It’s the cultural relativist point of view. (I gagged a little bit when I said that.)

My friend is a talented artist and he explained that his first attempts were simply practising color gradations; he felt aiming for anything remotely ambitious would produce only inadequate (to his mind) and discouraging results.

But I’m made of stupider stuff. My existential position: “Take what you do well, throw it out, and try something you haven’t got a clue about.”

I’m not worried about my results being inadequate, because I’ve learned that the results are always inadequate. It’s the process that I’m looking for.

(I gagged a little … etc. etc.)

Actions can be macaroni pictures, too.  Some top-of-mind examples:

Hillary makes a macaroni picture every time she gets a weeny bit closer to telling the total, unvarnished truth.

Hillary Shillary, the gal we love to pillory! How does your garden grow?  That’s lovely!  On the fridge you go!

Trump makes macaroni towers, macaroni condos, macaroni kidney-shaped swimming pools, every time he flip flops and contradicts himself in such an endearingly imbecilic way that he seems almost Yuman.

By evening, though, he’s back on script and salivating like a pack of pit bulls at the thought of how much more Yuge he’ll get when he blows the planet to smithereens.

Donald!  Naughty billionaire!  Go to your Tower, and no Miss World contestant for you! {Question:  If Donald spends the night with a hooker, does that make her a “strumpet”?

You’re welcome!}

Your addicted buddy makes a macaroni picture every time she stands up at a 12-step revival meeting and proclaims, “I was NICE to someone today!!”

Well done, darling!

OK,  look. Can I tell you something?  Regular people do that all the time.  Like, it’s kind of the minimum expected norm,  ya know?

But you tried, didn’t you?  So we’ll congratulate you and award you a great big “E” for extra macaroni, you narcissistic bag of skin-filled-with-shit !  But no sauce!

L O friggin’ L!!

Your millennial friend makes a great, big piece of foamcore covered with penne when he puts down his electronic device, sighs audibly, and painstakingly washes the dishes he left in the sink three months ago, taking all afternoon to finish, and pointedly leaving out the two forks and dinner plate that “he didn’t dirty in the first place.”

So you wait until he’s asleep, sneak into his room, put your hands around his throat, choke him to death, then stuff his lifeless body down the garbage chute.

Tolerance—’cause it feels so good when you stop.

~

 


And a shout-out to those feisty free-thinkers at the University of Texas at Austin,  

who with great wit and even bigger balls are throwing their defiant weight against the troglodyte forces of the NRA and their rabid gun-loving demographic, the “guns don’t kill, people do” brigade.

(scroll down to continue)…

» Cocks not Glocks (Campus Dildo Carry)

cocks-not-glocks

Guns, unbelievably, are now permitted on campus – but sex toys, it seems, are not.  It’s the old “make love, not war” thing, and it does my bleeding, socialist-libtard Canadian heart good to see these young ‘uns recreating the original » Summer of Love , but with better fashion and less armpit hair.

Their Facebook page makes interesting reading (the version of “interesting” that takes, say, “American Psycho” as a baseline calibration).  There you will discover such edifying responses as ONE LADY’S POST, WRITTEN WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON, consisting mainly of the words “CUNT” and “BITCH”; men calling the protesters “sluts”—have we covered all the bases around “modelling how to treat women with respect” and “grown-up discourse”?—and at least one dimwit expressing the opinion that the Virginia Tech massacre in April, 2007, occurred because the students weren’t armed.

Well, no.  The Virginia Tech massacre occurred because the perpetrator was.  Is this rocket science?

Obscenity:  I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it, and I see obscenity as the legal “right” to carry a concealed weapon on a university campus, an institution supposedly dedicated to higher learning, the wonder of discovery and the cross-pollination of minds, not to mention satanic promotion of the gay agenda and sponsorship of your son or daughter’s first, tentative forays into group sex while shit-faced drunk.   Expert tip:  Don’t forget the bottle of “g”!

If y’all want to learn more, follow the link above.  And be grateful that the currrent generation is smart, surprisingly light-hearted considering what we’ve burdened them with, and most importantly: willing and more than able to speak truth to power.

I have a dream, brothers and sisters.  And it looks a lot like Campus Dildo Carry.

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