How’s this for “found art?”
I have friends who are incredibly sweet and generous, and yet who are also a little out there.
These adorned a Christmas package I received. What we’ve got here is apparently a hatchet-wielding owl in the first drawing. And he’s not an empty threat, either — note the owl skulls bottom left.
The second sketch depicts nothing less than a Christmas tree flasher. (Note the consternation of the other trees.)
Tradition, ladies and gentlemen.
“We Care a Lot.”
By Faith No Moore.
Nice going, folks.
My handwriting sucks.
Update: “Alarm clock!!” I need to buy a new alarm clock!!!
Update 2: Although I probably should also get out to the coast to build and operate that clam shack I’ve always dreamed of.
Your second pun of the day. Even if only GoT fans will get it.
I abhor the work of Claude Monet. I do. The fact that his paintings monopolized the covers of art textbooks is probably why I never took an art class in college. (Mary Washington actually had a pretty popular art history course; my friends exhorted me to take it, but I never followed their advice.)
I don’t even much like the piece you see below. I’m running this blog post simply because I’m proud of the pun in its headline. Again — you people really should be paying me for these jokes.
Anyway, the title of Monet’s 1881 painting below is “Ship Aground.”
Breaking news — it was all a misunderstanding. Trump actually WAS nominated to be Person of the Year.
But he was called by the herbal cooking journal — THYME Magazine.
[Update: the White House just issued a correction — it was actually a BDSM porn mag — Tie ‘Em In Magazine.]
… but he did have a significant mother.
(You people really should be paying me for writing these jokes.)
This happens from time to time. I’ll be out walking, and I’ll inexplicably return covered with these — which is weird, because I don’t remember brushing up against any plants.
They get into my bed, and they’re actually sharp — creating the very real danger of injury to my unmentionables.
Thank you, Andrew Stanley Partridge.
Tonight’s agenda — speak exclusively in British slang; tell all the nobs to bugger off, and sort out all the bellends. Then meet up with a nice bird who isn’t a tart.
Nice one. Right, my British slang is proper, innit? Oh, you don’t think so? GET OUT OF IT, THEN.
Tally ho!
Sally forth!
And let slip the dogs of war! (Or something!)
Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York!!
[Update: God damn it. I realized just now that Brendan Gleeson is IRISH.]
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 