Thursday, 27 November 2014
Well, dear readers, it's that time again where that bozo from British Columbia, Mark Laba, has paid me in pork and bean money to splat his artwork up on my widely read and much talked about blog. He's now paying me in rolls of nickels and dimes, the brown paper rolls stained with the remnants of his Cheezie-dusted fingerprints but even if he's nickel and diming me to death, I have to take his money as per our previous agreement. Obviously things are taking a turn for the worse for Mr. Laba if he's resorting to paying me with rolls of coins, coins he no doubt fished out of the fountain at the local mall when security wasn't looking. Nevertheless, a man's got to eat and every roll of coins is another notch in my pork'n'bean belt while Mr. Laba, one can safely assume, can't even give his art away due to its infantile rendering and contemptible subject matter. That he even grips a pen in that monkey-fist he calls a hand (a hand that would be much more well-suited to self-pleasuring than attempting any drawing) is an abomination upon the art world and I've seen better results from diarrhea splatters in the toilet bowls of public restrooms than the crude markings Mr. Laba scrawls on cheap paper he finds in wastebaskets. He calls this new drawing "The Loneliness of the Long Distance-Calling Ventriloquist with Walrus" but I think "Laba Licks Urinal Pucks" is more fitting. Those urinal pucks might also explain how he hallucinates and then renders such distasteful themes. Lay off the urinal pucks, Laba, whether you're sniffing or licking them because they'll rot whatever is left of your pine-scented brain. As for the walrus, wishful thinking on his part because no walrus would have sex with him even if he were the last mammal on the ice floe and he had seal meat strapped to his scrawny, pallid body and fake tusks fashioned from toilet paper rolls stuck with his own snot to his face. Anyway, try to enjoy the drawing and I'll certainly be enjoying my pork and beans.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Dear readers, it's time again for me to post another of that miscreant who calls himself a man, Mark Laba's artistic endeavors even though I'm starting to think he's paying me with counterfeit twenties. Nevertheless, the lady at the Shop'n'Go casts nary a glance at the bills I produce and thus my pork and beans and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni larder is bursting at the seams with chemically enhanced and mechanically de-boned goodness and nutrition. So, up goes another messy piece of pen and ink from a man who must make mucilage his muse judging by his disgusting and talentless work not to mention the crusty stains that always seem to speckle his shirt and pants. In this drawing I believe he his attempting some sort of metaphorical rendering of that keftede-headed Casanova of Crete, the famed Telly Savalas, depicted in all his post-Kojak glory. Or maybe it's pre-Kojak, who can tell from these puerile pen-on-paper markings that would make even goat droppings on broken concrete seem like a Matisse. I believe Mr. Laba calls this one "Who Loves You, Baby," but "Who Loathes You, Laba" would be more fitting.