not him again
There is a certain person of the artworld who always shows up at the nighttime art events. This person will often speak to the sloth, but meanwhile he just stares, stares, stares at the modestly-proportioned sloth-teats. Every. time. In this photo, it looks like he is being birthed from a turkey, but no, THAT IS HIS REAL BALD HEAD, which is truly
a wonder of nature. Thus, the conversation always devolves into a stare-off.
posted by sloth @ 1:30 AM
29 comments
29 Comments:
I can't tell you who it is, but the head will tell you. Behold the head and you will know everything.
Whoa sloth, that's harsh. For you, I mean. For you to have to put up with, I mean. Maybe next time bring a raw turkey to smack him upside the head with -?
I really wanted to meet you guys tonight but gree c. hair and I had to beat it out of there super early to get to her friend's house. Harsh for me but life is cruel sometimes.
he's not the handlebar mustache guy, is he?
Oh Sloth, I wish you would tell of the bald head so I may slay him with my cross bow. Such perusals are only ok with certain people, not large men with raw poultry hats. I allow a certain amount of teat perusal but only if I really like the person, there are unwritten laws.
Sloth, though, you can understand why someone might behold you in this way. You are very very cute.
Thtab 'im in the head! Thtab 'im in the head!
That is so uncool, so phat-free as we like to say on the street. What gives with this troglidite, can we have another hint as to who he is.
The head looks a little C.Finch like (?)
he's bald.
Chuck Close?
Hudson?
Orlan?
It must be Orlan, good call.
Orlan is such a dog
you guys are cracking me up! It's not just the staring problem, which I think is maybe a nervous habit when talking to females in general, but also a general ickiness that goes with the leer. The head is a real phenomenon. Also, think lumpen. I feel bad saying all of this because he has curated me into stuff in the past and maybe the future.
Nice idea: being curated into the future. Let's all get curated into the future.
capt'n, I will admit to being a little heartbroken that you were not there last night, but I fully understand the daunting nature of negotiating this crazy island when you have somewhere to be.
By the way, we were lucky enough to run into FB and Arthur etc. last night in the 'burg! Of all the gin joints...
Jealous!!!!! Sloth, it's tragic. You were party to the miracle known as FB. That is wondrous.
Hey I learned something last night, speaking of being "curated". Take a guess who announced their true identity at dinner last night, the one, the only, Robert Storr who made a recent appearance on my blog was indeed UNCLE FRITZ. The little bugger. I mean obviously I knew it wasnt' Mr. Storr, but the tricking of UF was intense to learn. I dropped my fork 4 times in a row. Then we were making jokes about role-playing at home: Curate me, Robert, curate me...that type of thing. Ha.
NO WAY. sheeeesh....
I could see some fun role-playing games to spice things up, like the old curator's couch scenario. (Which is the vibe I get from Bald Mountain pictured above.)
Should you be playing those games with your Uncle?
sloth and UFP were a surprise treat last night!
UFP... I like it. "Unicorn" instead of "Hyena?" Can't think of other U animules right now.
It just really made our night, FB. Truly.
Okay, I go to donut factory soon. Very soon.
Now.
Thanks all for your sympathy for the loss of my haypig pet. It's name was Cupid which I bought my wife on Valentines day before we got married. It died of pneumona and all I could do is watch it die in 24 hours. It was supposed to be symbolic of our marriage to come and I think Cupid died because I have been neglecting it. I dont want to accept the symbolism of its death though. But there is symbolism there.
MM I would never pretend to be someone else when blogging to you. Shame on Fritz. Its good news though I was worried that Storr was working on a book about you and wanted to find out some secrets, might damage your mountain man of Stepford image. ;-)
Sloth, thanks for the tunes. I knew you would have something to corrupt my mind with. It takes dedication to be different. Drop suggestions anytime on my blog.
"Now" is 1:39 pm isnt it? Spend the day walking around with powder sugar up your nose and see if anyone notices.
Regi, funny story: I have a friend who was a "straight-edge" punk, i.e., no drink, drugs, etc., when he was a highschool senior (he has since reformed his teetotlaing ways). He was chaperoning a bunch of kids on a ski trip, and went out to the car for a powdered donut and a soda. He ate the donut, and went back to the lodge, finishing the soda, when the trip organizer came up and just looked and shook his head at him. Powdered suger on the nose. Nothing he could say would exonerate him.
I am truly sorry about Cupid. I am positive it wasn't your fault. And if you deem any pet a symbol of your marriage, you will arrive at this point eventually, Regi. Sometimes a cigar, etc.
new relic to be posted soon.
Can't wait to see your new relic!
Slothy can you xerox yourself very small so I could put you in my shirt pocket and take you with me to the refinery today?
Thanx.
Sloth, I bet I know who the slobbering curator is. . . "Oy Boyshemoy," as my grandmother used to say.
Corny, can you feel me in your pocket? I'm in here, poking you. Poke. Poke.
Let me out now? It's dark in here & I'm getting hungry...
JD, you know who I know who you know who I know.
p.s. I always wondered how to spell that... I use it all the time, passed down from your Grams.
"I can stand out the war with any man"
"Kiss my grits!"
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