The Breast Monster
The Breast Monster.
I dug this out the other day, from the Lafayette Street days. Ol' Mike A. sure wasn't too pleased about having all the precious boobies in his nudie mags sacrificed to make this beauty. But, I mean we only did it for his own spiritual well being. (He might have been tempted to touch himself. Inappropriately.) I think this makes a powerful statement. It says, you know what's in boobies? THE DEVIL. Just ask Perry Sanders. Or how about: "The modern female's psyche is juxtaposed against an idiom that has been perverted through societal pressures into a monstrosity. The breast, at once nurturing and pure, is also seen as detrimental, breast becomes beast, and is thus, AN ENIGMA." Damn, I should be an art critic.
posted by Great Boudenny at 10:55 PM
2 Comments:
Keep working on it. . . and one day. . . when ya'all grow'd up. . . you'll wake up. . . and your an art. . . critic. . .
Me, I yam jus' a lowly. . . fart critic. . .
Fart critic:
"In this piece, from his surrealistic post-Taco Bell period, the artist has juxtaposed the aromatic nuances of Chilitos and Nachos Bell Grande, with the more pungent and nostril burning scent of the previous day's Mel's Diner burger, striking the audience with a furious blast of ass and evoking an experience akin to nasal rape."
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