No? Well good, but I still don’t much care for you.
I was about to leave the house today to do something responsible. On the way out I noticed a sketch pad, and how the evening did change. Cue mindless self-indulgence. If you actually want to see them clearly, you may have to click on them. Remember I said if.
‘Excellent Choice Sir.’
This piece represents the truly savage nature of the hospitality industry. See the waiter is clutching a wine list, but he has like a weird dinosaur head thing, so he’s sort of saying, here’s the wine, but if it was necessary I’d tear the flesh from your body with my teeth and my teeth alone.
People complain about driving to work, and the traffic and what not. Why not make it fun by having everyone drive to work in Bumper Cars… or whatever the fuck they’re called. Also there’s a large snail, and he says something like ‘you may think we’re all slow, but when you’re not looking we’re as fast as trains.’
Be it a literal stage, or just life with anxiety issues, this sums it up.
‘A Pot Plant’
‘Sometimes I Wish I Was Like This.’
Usually in queues.
(Feel free to make a Cummings reference) This picture of an addict balloon looked so much better before I noticed my sister’s Mr. Maker 4years + art kit and decided I was going to colour it in with water colours. I felt so grown up, I didn’t have to put newspapers down or anything. I then stuck it on the fridge and had a nap.
The vanity of this man knew no bounds. In the end, it destroyed him.
I also did a short story which I was rather pleased with it is as thus.
Once upon a time there was a man named Bimsby. He had an exceptionally fat head. ‘Good day Bimsby,’ people would greet him in the street, before muttering as they passed ‘my word what an exceptionally fat head.’
Three times he had attempted to shrink his gargantuan cranium, but to no avail. First, he soaked it in vinegar for three weeks. It was a futile endeavour, only succeeding in giving him the constant aroma of a pickled gherkin.
The second attempt involved a carpenter’s vice. He squished his head in it so hard that he crushed his skull and his brain oozed out of his nose and his eyeballs exploded from their sockets, ruining the work bench forever. Worse still, he had to wait three whole months on an NHS waiting list to receive treatment – thanks a lot Cameron!
The third and final attempt was perhaps the most daring. He went to visit an old gypsy lady, the old stereotypical kind who had a long nose and the innate ability to curse people for whatever reason took their fancy. He made sure it was known that he was mightily pleased with his fat head, and that the worst thing he could imagine was having his fat head reduced in size to that of a normal persons, in a bold attempt to fool said gypsy.
He then set fire to her dog.
He was cursed. However, she had seen through his obvious ploy (no one would want a head so freakishly fat: it was quite sickening to behold) and cursed him instead to never have the power to leave the Hammersmith and City Line of the London Underground.
To this day he still sits on that infernal tube travelling from Barking to Hammersmith and then from Hammersmith to Barking. So the moral of the story is; Don’t have a fat head.
If you made it this far I have nothing but pity for you.