Imgormiel
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
- Messages
- 4,372
Doctor Julius Zzatz goes to the art gallery
Ahhhhh! Yet another few hours from work spent fucking around at my beach suburb house in Paris - Damn those drugs. Texas. Tripping over the hair chair from the ceiling I am ready to be spent. Those piano keys from the guitar look loaded with some bar tenders’ teeth. Well, gotta buy good - Not that cheap shit from Walmart. Can’t snort off those...no, no, no.
And she’s wailing in the background there with some dawg crap about me having to hurry up annoying fuck thang that she’s been going on with lately. Damned broad head dawgs. I can see the words rippling through the air with silhouettes on ‘em as she talks about credit cards, cash and things. Places to be. The fuck she knows about places where I am at this moment in time...My pet cocaine slut.
The tongue keeps panting out of her mouth about cold. Yet I put the words money and cold together in this fucked up state and then my eyeballs pop right out my head spontaneously with laughter. A breath that is all crimson nicotine skanked.
Tonight. Tonight I am told. I am supposed to be some mystery guest. For some reason that makes me laugh. What is so weird about that – it happens every god damned day when I go to work! Again, the wailing air appropriates that we are going to see some artist or some shit in a fucked up building in Detroit. Who-the-hell paid for this? It’s only around the corner, what do we need a plane for? Jesus...
Anyways, she’s got me all dressed up nice and suited and in this overcoat so heavy and furry that it looks like it has been rejected by a Russian on a cold winter’s night. I have a hat on that looks like it’s been run over by a 69 Chevy and some shades on that were once the property of a blind man’s rabbit. Hold on a minute, some shit missing here. Thirsty. Hmmm, ah, fuck. That will be the lack of the Ritalin cocaine mixer laced with bourbon. I had twenty-two of those granny-brothers all fucked up on my living room mantle piece. Did I drink those or did she hide them? Time for quick Thai-phoo cigarette. Mmmm!
The plane ride was all lovely...as per usual. I spent it flying on the ceiling of an outer body experience. Going nuts fighting with the airplane-attendants and their helium masks in search of some extra sensory perception – due to the hour of lack of self-harm intravenous indulgence spent not working on, getting doped. Well, it was. Something to kill the boredom of having to listen to a dumb broad dressed like the Eiffel tower at Christmas.
We arrive with me showing my nonchalance for the applauding crowd with three Thai-phoo cigarettes lit at once. A cheese smile so wide it could have been borrowed from a prop in Alice in wonderland. With Ginny, keeping a safe distance from me trying to look so nice while licking on my end trails. What, would I do, without her? We began talking with the sycophantic guests and sparring with their over-zealous smiles with my usual sarcasm. She prodded me on to go look at some of the children’s drawings on the wall.
What is this avant-garde shit and who did this? For some reason that wine seemed to sober me up. Ah, shit! Anyway, I see a few of them and they start to look a little, familiar. In fact, there’s one here, that looks like it is Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Save that the guy in it looks like a cheap little faggot with an expression on his face like he’s just been rejected by his rent-boy. Oh and this one over here, like it’s a cubical version of the Mona Lisa done with many one’s and zero’s – what a cheap ass. Then, something strikes me, as everything done in here is a little odd. The signature on them all I am sure is the same. Ok, let us read it. Dr...uh, huh. J...ok yeah. Zzatz. Hmmm, well whaddya know? God damned plagiarist in the house...Who’d have thought that?
