Tag Archives: Modern Art

outcast

I’m a smoker, an outcast from society destined to spend the rest of my life – some might say that won’t be long if I continue smoking – standing outside in the cold, huddled up against a wall in the vain hope of finding a little protection from the howling wind, driving rain, sleet, snow and anything else God in his anger and frustration with the world might throw at me. I don’t know about the ciggies killing me, I’m more than likely going die from hyperthermia or pneumonia before then. (It’s amazing how we smokers come up with every reason under the sun not to quit. I’m half expecting some eminent doctor to publish a paper insisting that filling your lungs with acrid smoke, nicotine, tar and general gooey stuff is actually good for you… only to find out he’s a smoker.

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Life Isn’t Fair

Tracey Emin gets up one morning, takes a look at her bed, the sheets all scrunched up and messy, the floor around it littered with all kinds of crap… and she is lauded as being an artistic genius and makes a fortune out of it. Me, I get up in the morning, look at my bed, the top sheet slightly creased from where I turned over in the night, a tissue accidentally falls out of the pocket of my jimjams, lands the floor… and the only reward I get is a b******ing from Mrs T for being slovenly. Where’s the justice in that? Being rewarded for turning out crap.

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PINEAPPLE AND EGGS

One day I went into the art staff room – the place where all the hippies gather to mull over their latest piece of indecipherable nonsense – where I was working and while I was waiting for a colleague who was on the telephone, I picked up a book and started flicking through the pages. Imagine my disgust when I came across what I thought was a “selfie” published without my permission, my horrified, contorted face grimacing in disgust at having come across a piece of modern art.

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