Sunday, March 15, 2009

These Naked Walls

Most of the walls are bare in any bedroom or apartment in which I've lived. Because I have yet to own the walls in which I dwell, I cannot paint, and the holes left by driven nails are generally discouraged. Beyond that, I am just generally obscenely selective about what I'd put on a wall. Apparently I'd rather have blank walls than stick up something that in my view falls even slightly short of being a complete triumph.

To date, I have authorized only three objects to cling from the walls of my current apartment.

My beloved print of "Christmas Disaster Special" from A Lesson Is Learned (But The Damage Is Irreversible) adorns the bedroom wall above the dresser where I assemble empty champagne bottles to use as candlesticks.

Above the other dresser hangs a tiny photograph of the Commonwealth Avenue pedestrian mall's statue of John Glover, or as I refer to him, Captain Fabulous. Really, you must admit; that statue is fantastic. John Glover must've been pretty awesome, because, well, just look at that fucking statue.

The photo I have, however, is particularly special in that Captain Fabulous has his complete sword. The thin stretch of metal that form the sword -- not the sheath, which remains intact -- had already been knocked out by some unholy rapscallion prior to our first encounter, but during a restoration two summers ago, the sword was repaired, and I snagged a photograph on a bright summer day for proof. As I anticipated, weeks later, someone had fucking stolen the Captain's sword again. But it's memory lives on, on my wall.

The third piece of all art I've authorized is a giant poster of the head of a great white shark emerging from the water, teeth a-blazin'. We haven't acquired this yet, but when we do, it's going over the toilet in the bathroom I share with T-Rex, to watch us pee.

That said, I think I may need a print of this. I'm not sure what the fuck is going on in this photograph, but there is definitely a lion in that sidecar, and this is awesome, and needs to be on my wall, perhaps in some sort of gaudy frame. He will sit, perhaps, over my bed. And pass judgment on all the sex. Not sure yet.

But I need it.


  1. I dunno. Call me crazy, but when I'm getting plowed, I just find it weird to have a lion in a sidecar watching me. I would probably imagine him criticizing my every move. "What the hell, you call that a cowgirl? I've seen better cock handling in the kitchen of a KFC. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to throw a koopa shell at the asshole in front of me."

  2. Look at how chill that fucking lion is. You think the lion would really disapprove? The lion abides, man.