Tag Archives: artist

This Week in Pictures: New Sports Added to Olympic Repertoire

Dynamic mate selection, a summer sport:
Cortona_Rape_of_the_Sabine_Women_01Rape of the Sabine Women, by Pietro da Cortona

Acquiring animal abilities, a summer sport :
60965-10CRHomecoming G.I., by Norman Rockwell

Intimidation and hatred (couple event); a summer sport:
intimidationPortrait of a Lady from the Court of Milan, Leonardo da Vinci; Louis-Francois Bertrin, Ingres

Neo-Nazi leadership, a winter sport:
147769Biondina, by Frederick Leighton

Being blind, a summer sport:
1200-1061Portrait Fille, by Tamara de Lempicka

Looking like Mary Kate and Ashley, a winter sport:
maryLittle Girl in Blue, by Jan Cornelisz Verspronck

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CNN News Snippet of the Day: What’s So Wrong With Being Childless?

He asks sincerely.
5531Erasmus, by Hans Holbein the Younger

Fox News Snippet of the Day: Advertising Exec Holds Ex Wife Hostage

All he wanted was her first born son.
3371The Natchez, by Eugene Delacroix

Time Magazine Headline of the Day: Internet Plays Key Role in China’s Latest Unrest

chinaLiberty Leading the People, by Eugene Delacroix; The Turkish Bath, by Ingres

Wen Jiabao, Premier of China: “I have just ‘stumbled upon’ an interesting new site. It seems that Karl Rove has received 3 purple hearts and the highest naval honors for saving 4 children from a burning submarine. I never knew he had so much dignity.”

Right Hand Man: “Oh yes, Your Premierness. So many interesting things can be found on the Internet, especially through the all-powerful phenomena that is Twitter. It’s where I find all my news for your daily security reports. For today I have prepared a report on why Neil Armstrong is as big of a liar as Czar Nicholas II. The moon? All lies. The most important celestial bodies are Father Tiger and Mother Bear” he said with two slight nods of his head.

“Bring me my oracle bones! I must know the future of this internet.”

“Before I do this I should explain. The Internet has also been causing a lot of civil unrest. You see, a leader of a local harem, who moonlights as a porn star, has been organizing a union of young ladies of the night in large-scale protests for their rights. I think we could capitalize on this idea, however, maybe restore the Geisha system, only more global, sleek, and trendy. The Japs stole the idea from us anyway, just like they stole the idea of the Ronin. Lying, cock-sucking dogs…”

“Control yourself and answer my question or I will bring out the waterboard! What is ‘porn’?”

“Well, women get paid for sex and men videotape it.”

The Premier roared with laughter. “That’s called marriage!”

“Well, men don’t get paid in marriage.”

“Have you heard of a dowry? I get paid all the time in legal tender–sheep heads and sometimes family heirlooms–old scrolls and the like. We here in China love all equally.”

“But you see, there is no love involved. Some American women even claim that they feel that their husbands love them less because their husbands like to watch women gagged and beaten, with other women, bleaching their assholes, or sometimes even vomiting.”

The premier stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend his stupidity and misunderstanding of Western culture. “What’s your point?” he said at last?

“Well, as I said, we fear that it will only cause more civil unrest. 12 men already killed themselves after the retirement of the most notorious Lady, the current one’s predecessor. We’ve already blocked google, but this is a persistent force, like a DNA string mutation.” He chuckled. “Saw that on Twitter.”

“Here’s what to do. Listen very carefully. Go to the Forbidden City and have the guards show you to the Purity Room.
Walk 23 statues to the back, and then 23 to the left and there you shall find a gilded lion. His eyes are actually 2 bones, which are the two elbow joints of the holy oracle, the only relics left of him. Pray on them, and then bring them to our Harem “Princess.” She thinks she’s Internet royalty, well, I’ll give her the royal treatment. After making her kiss them, bring her and the relics to me.”

***

The civil rights leader entered the room naked with her ukulele.

“Why hello, my princess,” the Premier said, taken aback. He crossed and recrossed his legs as she sat cross-legged in front of him.

“Hello, I hear that you are displeased with my speeches and rhetoric to my fellow ladies.”

“Did I say that? I meant only that your words are strong. You have so many rights right now, like the right to possess me.”

Right Hand Man leaned in and whispered to the Premier “Don’t forget that she’s a subversive and dangerous criminal. She would take us down for a fresh hookah and sequined dress.”

The ‘Princess’ sensed the nature of his comments. She knew men very well and replied “I will do anything for my country. I have committed many errors in my life and tonight won’t be another one.”

“Ok let’s discuss civil rights? Have you read Sumner’s What Social Classes Owe Each Other? He has a lot of insight on what people might owe the Premier of their great nation.”

The ‘Princess’ stared at him in disbelief. “It’s you who ought to take care of us, give us liberty and give us…”

“Death” the Premier answered.

“I see that this has been a mistake. Please have somebody accompany back to my harem. Good bye.”

“That went well didn’t it?” the Premier asked Right Hand Man

Fox News Headline of the Day: Michigan Man Surprised He Isn’t Kidnapped Child

vincentSelf-Portrait, by Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent looks the reporter earnestly in the eyes and begins to tell his story:

“I always knew my parents were gypsies. When I was growing up my friends even called me Heathcliff. My governess would chastise me and turn my buttocks pink whenever I mentioned the subject, but that was only the “foreplay,” if you will. Later they would take me to the drawing room.  My father, a very important merchant, in those days, kept his katana swords in there. She would stand before them and unsheathe the longest one, named Lady Anna for a woman of my father’s acquaintence. (It was rumored that I was half-japanese, but I knew this was an untruth.) The name didn’t suit her–she looked like Lady Colombia to me–with the sword stretched out before my neck and screaming “YOU ARE YOUR MOTHER’S CHILD.”

My only refuge was my secret cave. One afternoon, I fell to the floor, beating down the clay in a fit of rage. I lay there imagining that a very large beast had stepped there and shit me out from under it. I swore to find my real parents. Meanwhile, I began to paint my real family. The first painting I completed was of a woman full of mirth, helping her actress daughter, a prima donna, dress for her show. I imagined that I was this daughter, secretly dressed as a woman, ready to receive roses. I would sleep with any man who approached me afterwards, so warm with the glow of success. I named it “Cornelia.”   Every Sunday after that, I would scrutinize the photos of lost children on telephone poles and milk cartons, always seeing some similarity in the child’s afro or his manner of dress.

One fateful afternoon, I met a very similar actress in a bar. I felt immediately that she was my sister and that I had had visions of her, a sort of sanguine bond. When the thought struck me, I began to kiss her cheeks. She was confused for a moment and told me to slow down. I insisted that she did not understand, so I set out to show the obviousness of our connection. I asked her where her father was. Her eyes lost the familial sparkle. Does he not collect knives, smell so sweetly of poppy fields, and have many intimidating tattoos? She assented. I then called the newspapers, elated.

I heard from her a few weeks later, and she asked to meet me. I agreed and I was shocked to see her tear-stained face and she walked into the restaurant. She picked up the nearest glass and shattered it against my right ear, which is why I have this bandage.”

The reporter asked, “So, you aren’t the mystery kid after all?” Vincent looked away abashedly and clucked his tongue.

CNN News Headline of the Day: Anticipating a Small Party

party hardyThe Allegory of Age Governed by Prudence, by Titian

Lion: Ever since the Chronicles of Narnia I have lost all anonymity! I get recognized in the street everywhere I go.

Cassanova: Oh, Christ, do stop complaining! You look as if you are about to cry! I am wanted in 6 countries for sodomy, incestuous relations, and polygamy.  At least people don’t call you the Tuscan Prince of Prison Rape. I suppose this is my curse. Please bear yours with a…

Dumbledore:  Of curses you speak, young Cassanova! Don’t test me! I still maintain a correspondence with the vicar of Costa Rica, Martin Luther de Carnavales. He controls a local tribe in the Balboan forests. Why it would be heaven for you! They would feed you peeled bananas and their own special kind of burrito. Are you imagining this yet? And then they would wait until twilight, when your white skin is gleaming purple and descend upon thy knightly body. Valhalla, indeed.

Lion grudgingly drinks a glass of wine. Feeling no effect in his system, he growls vociferously at the wolf named Jack London to get him more.

The wolf named Jack London: Ok, I think it’s time to start the music now. Hmm definitely no Chopin. I know!

The sounds of “Du Hast” begin to fill the room, and Titian cannot but help flick his head about in tune with the metal madness. He picked up the nearest bottle of liquor and let it stream down his face.

“At least people don’t mistake you for King Leonidas,” Titian laughed at the rest of them. The dog assented.

BBC News Headline of the Day: Fleeing Romanians are Rehoused

wwashyWashington Crossing the Delaware, Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

A pair of black eyes gazed up at a man of Olympic proportions. Her hand reached out to stroke the long cape that hugged his body.

George, ever the silent fellow, gazed off into the dark waters, his leg hiked up on the side of his noble lady-ship and his head slightly cocked toward the setting sun. He slightly twitched at a tug on his cape.

The black eyes spoke: “I cannot go back to Transylvania for there is a dark lord awaiting us! You’ve all read Bram Stroker! To my dear relatives in the Carpathians, these recent events spell out a dark omen, indeed. He wants us to leave and is backing the IRA. This can only mean one thing–the Count is back in London!”

George: “Why, you’re a regular francophile!”

Romanian vixen: “Please hear me out. Why else would Gordon Brown take such pains to conceal his membership in Fight Club? Why else does the Mari Juana strike at our youth like Napoleon struck down nations? And why does Stolichnaya burn green in the presence of the Japanese?

George felt his back turn to ice at the truth in these statements, but he soon recovered. “Your words do not convince me. In fact, we can fit at least 25 more people in each boat. It will be back to the land of goats and cowboys for all of you!”

The vixen resigned and laid back, feeling the husky wood bind her to a flaxen sailor. A lonesome star began to twinkle in the distance. She wondered if it were part of Taurus like the man next to her must be.