I’m not an artist, nor have I ever claimed to be one. My watercolors are weak, my oil paintings are a mess, and my sculptures are all mesas done with mashed potatoes. I am not an artist. Not one iota of me knows how to manipulate the physical world to create something visually pleasing. I know better than to call myself a modern artist or a post-modernist, because I have at least a shred of dignity. I’d rather be called a regular ole hack than a post-modernist. At least I’m self-aware. I know I’m complete garbage. You don’t have to dress it up with a fancy name that has its own college degree and $80,000 of student debt.
(Warning: some vaguely naughty language and salacious clothing choices. It’s shocking. I’m shocked. This is my shocked face)
There seems to be rather a big hubbub surrounding this video, and I find the whole matter to be shocking, disgusting, asinine, mind-bogglingly stupid, and completely at odds with everything the BSBFB stands for. I’m referring of course to this article; the video itself is pure gold and should be saved on magnetic data tapes and stored in bomb-proof bunkers to make sure it’s available for the enjoyment of future generations.
After reading the title of the article my heart sank into the pit of my stomach, and by the time I reached the second paragraph it dropped out of my backside and into the Earth’s mantle. I was under the impression that we lived in a country where women could show more than a little ankle without inciting the wrath of the dangerously bored and self-righteous. I hate to bring this up, but in the USA, women can vote, drive cars, marry whoever they want, own and carry weapons, and wear clothing that wasn’t chosen for them by their grandmother and a TV preacher. I guess that’s a little too much for the Daily Mail to handle because they seem to think it’s all very sexist. I don’t know what the current political climate of the UK is like, but their newspapers seem to be a little loopy. I’d love to see things from their point of view, but I don’t think I can get my head that far up my heinie without using the jaws of life to get out afterwards.
Out of all the benign, fun, and good-natured things to pick on, going after people for assisting models during their shoot is sickening. Apparently, pornography is to blame for men liking women in bikinis. I hate to break it to them, but I don’t think men need any help developing an affinity for partially clad women. After all, partially clad women are the second-best thing in the world.
I’ve done some extensive studies on how to pick up women, and my findings are exactly what you’d expect. If you’re a fighter pilot, test pilot, or stunt pilot, you’re 100 percent more likely to attract women than an accountant. Musicians, Olympic athletes, pirate-ship captains, and underwear models can’t compare to test pilots. The only people who come close are billionaires, but they don’t count. I’d become a pilot, but my ears go pop whenever I walk up the stairs, so that’s out of the question. Luckily, I’m devilishly handsome, which is enough to pick up grounded chicks. I’m not that into flighty girls to begin with, so it’s a win-win situation for me.
Some fools might claim that the best way to pick up women is to talk to them and take an interest in what they have to say, but they’re dead wrong. Women don’t want men with money either. Having money is a definite perk, but it’s not a deciding factor. What women really want are complete psychopaths — who smell good. If you’re a test pilot, or a musician, or an international man of mystery there’s obviously something deeply wrong with you and women are immensely attracted to that. They want to cradle your little psycho head in their arms while you froth at the mouth and shake violently. I don’t know what it is that makes women want men with deep-rooted issues, but it’s given me a steady stream of girlfriends, so I’m happy with the arrangement.
Of course, they all leave as soon as they figure out that I’m just a tremendous arsehole and there’s nothing actually wrong with me.
Those crazy Finndanenorseswedes, what will they get up to next? Before you know it they’ll form little book clubs, travel around from seaport to seaport in long-ish boats pillaging the countryside, and carrying off slightly less attractive women than they already have at home. I can’t remember the last time anyone sensible went on a murderous, intercontinental rampage. The Mongols have been strangely quiet in recent years, the Vikings are too obsessed with soccer and writing plays where no one says anything, and the Huns — well I’m not sure about the Huns. I think they got taken over by the Garians. How would I know? They don’t write. They don’t call.
Maybe the Finnswedenorsedanes have figured out that it’s a lot easier to be a vague nuisance to your friends, neighbors, and countrymen than to get the horde back together, man. The logistics of keeping multiple continents in your frosty iron grip gets complicated. Do you know how much it costs to equip every soldier in your army with proper flaying equipment? For the same price you could just import human skin and skin-based products from any country known as a People’s Democratic Republic. Anything goes there already, so invading would be superfluous.
Terrorizing the world isn’t as easy as it used to be. Bieber gave it a go from his icy lair in the north, but the last Canadian that really scared anyone was Brian Mulroney, I think. If you really want to be a thorn in the World’s side, run a blog; it’s a lot cheaper than many of the alternatives, and it’s as cold as Norsedaneswedeland in mom’s basement anyway. You’re halfway there already.