Another god-damned day on the painting. That useless bitch, she won't keep still. I say to her, 'keep still, stop with the scratching', but no, first it's a one hand, then it's a both hands, scratch and fucking scratch again. She says it's the plague, I tell her, 'fuck the plague, keep still or you gonna be wearing this god-damned portrait'. It's a no use, I tell you, i'm a seriously thinking about going back to the inventing stuff.
I mean, I was doing good with the inventions. I had fantastic inventions. I make pictures of tanks and helicopters and submarines, all that and no fucker even know what i'm a saying, this stuff don't even have words yet and I inventing it all over. I sit down to breakfast, pow, right there, I invent a birth control device, right there on the napkin. I go sit on the toilet, pow, right there I invent a machine for wiping my ass. I tell you, this is all good stuff, I go and tell Ludovico Il Moro, I say, 'Hey, you want something invented? I got here a machine for wiping my ass'. He say, 'Get the fuck out of my throne room'. I tell you, the man is a moron. Also, he's ugly, I mean, when that fucker was born, the nurse slapped his momma, you hear what i'm saying?
Well, so we got a renaissance going on here in Italy at the moment, I gotta tell you, we're leading the whole god-damned world in all kinds of stuff. I mean, we're living in the big houses with the plumbing. So you say, 'Yeah Leo, so what's the big deal?' Listen, I tell you what the big deal is, you go spend a week in that shithole up north, that England place, I tell you, their idea of plumbing is a god-damned hole in the floor, you wanna take a leak, you piss through the hole, on a good day you don't hit no one in the street. You wanna take a dump, you check the air temperature, if it's too cold you don't even drop your trousers. I tell you, the whole god-damned country smells like a whore's laundry basket.
Anyway, I gotta go, I gotta finish that god-damned painting. Not that i'll ever get to sell it, that bitch moved around so much it's all lop-sided and I forgot to put in the god-damned eyebrows. Still, who gives a fuck, it keeps me off the streets and it's anonymous, just like this blog, ok?
4 comments:
Yes, yes. But tell her to wipe that smirk off her face as well, while you're at it. What is she smirking about? Ruins an otherwise half decent painting.
That ain't no smirk. I got dust up my nose while i was doing the lips and the brush wobbled. I tell you, it ain't easy being a painter.
Oooh a deleted comment. Was someone saying something filthy about a whore's laundry basket? I tell you, that laundry basket certainly got me thinking.
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