Thursday, 4 June 2015

Dr. Haltiwanger's Art-A-Rama-The Liverwurst Conspiracy

Let me open this post by simply stating I love meat that comes in a tubular shape (I'm not talking about penises, by the way). What I like even more are organ meats stuffed into a cylindrical casing (again, not talking about penises here). That's why it galls me utterly and completely to have to post this newest piece of perversity by that cringe-producing scribbler who can turn ordinary paper spattered with pen and ink into vomit inducing imagery but I can tell you this, I'm thinking of upping the ante and charging not only pork and beans but also a tube or two of liverwurst sausage for posting this new drawing. Or any other future drawings for that matter. Just as an artist needs variety in their subject matter, I too need variety in my daily dietary intake and frankly, these pork and beans are killing me. I need a little meat protein to offset the bean protein (because you'd need an electron microscope to find the pork in those cans of pork and beans), and some liverwurst would definitely make my day not to mention oil the old bowels and turn bathroom time into a backyard slip'n slide rather than the World War II mortar attack it usually resembles, my bathroom looking much like Berlin circa 1945.

Variety, of course, is not a word Mr. Laba is well-acquainted with in his art. Not only does he beat a dead horse over and over again, but he then sells it for horse meat and then begins to beat the horse meat, whether in hamburger form or filet. He will follow people home from the butcher shop and then sneak into their homes and beat their horse meat while they're upstairs sorting the laundry or arranging their collection of Hummel figurines.
The reason for this whole rant upon a liverwurst theme is because Mr. Laba calls this newest drawing The Birth of Liverwurst. Now I'm all for the birth of baby Jesus or the birth of a new star in the universe or the birth practices of opossums on the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico, perhaps in a ditch out back of a bingo hall where the various discarded fast food debris provides sustenance to the new-born, nearly blind and hungry baby opossums with their groping little hands and mucous-slathered bodies, but I have my doubts that liverwurst is birthed, but rather is extruded through some kind of meat emulsifying machine.

That Mr. Laba then sticks in the good Lord's son, savior and all round bon-vivant, Jesus Christ, bearing an immense liverwurst through a prehistoric landscape, makes me think Mr. Laba has lost all his marbles and secondly, that he will meet his end in a church pew (even though he is a Jew), while in the process of inserting lewd images from his pornographic photo collection of ventriloquist dummies having their way with Lithuanian pantyhose models, into the Bibles and that by the time he is found on Sunday morning the church mice will have eaten out his eyes and covered the rest of his putrescent and psoriasis-spackled body with mouse droppings. Hopefully it won't be the Ladies Auxillary first on the scene for such a sight would no doubt cause them to drop their various trays of delectable baked goods from their already-over-taxed arthritic hands and the sheer horror of it all may set back the production of fudge brownies, blueberry scones and oatmeal cookies for years to come, much to the detriment of the other parishioners.

Enough said about that and if Mr. Laba doesn't meet his maker covered in mouse feces (the meek shall inherit the earth and Mr. Laba's body, too if my predictions come true), then perhaps he might do us all a favour and fall into a meat emulsifier and turn his innards into something useful like, say, rat bait for school cafeterias.