Life as an artist is grand until you realise no one is listening to what you're saying.

Late, yes. Blame convention. I know I do. Oh, by the way, this is the 50th post. My feeling on it is that of the whole weekend. Who cares?

Title Source: My head, probably hanging out with people.


“It’s currently doing a picture of you. And Jack’s arm.”
“Man. Jack’s arm is soooo hot.”

“You know that stupid memory game?”
“No.”
“You go through the alphabet. I'm gong on a trip and I'm gonna pack a ...Aardvark. The next person is going to pack an Aardvark and a Broken umbrella, and so on until you threaten to commit suicide.”

“And yes… it was an Idaho Polka.”

“Well, you know, sometimes penises are evil. And sometimes they do bring doom. You know, like gonorrhea. Kind of like doom.”

“You’re crazy like the woman in The Yellow Wallpaper.”

“But then we’ll hook you up in millions of dollars in tourism!”

“Zoo animals are not the same as regular animals.”
“Like they’re drugged out.”

“Yes, I would like to come home to my husband doing that, but I would also like to throw a shoe at Charlie.”

“There are no bad nuns. Only bad habits.”

“Well, Emily wants world domination and a bagel, but she’s not getting either, is she?”

“I can’t go back to sleep, I can smell myself!”

“If I’d done a trick when you were on top of me, would that have gotten you off?”

"What's the matter? Am I going to have to pound some face?"