I found this abhorrent statuette a good month and a half ago at an ARC thrift store and made it my own it without hesitation, as it was more heinous and confusing than a stag film starring Rhea Perlman and the remains of Colonel Sanders.
So I've stared at this thing, and I've plotted, and I've brooded, and I've come up with exactly nothing to do with it. There quite simply is nothing I could do to this object to make it any more preposterous or make any less sense. I mean, what the hell is it? Is it racist? I'm pretty sure it's racist, but since when do Asian stereotypes have watermelon sized foreheads? And really, if it were a racist statue wouldn't the little guy be a devil instead of an angel, and wouldn't he be eating a ferret instead of coddling a lamb? If that were the case, I could definitely see racism coming into play here, but as is I'm seeing nothing more than an absolute mess.
Well I guess the streak is over then: I have officially been bested by an inanimate object. How depressing, and yet this tough pill is made a little easier to swallow in knowing that this is likely the first and only win that this hideous glob of painted plaster will ever experience during its doomed lifetime. As a sort of victory lap, I'm allowing the creature to migrate freely about my humble abode (you'd be surprised how well it blends in to any number of surroundings). Maybe someday I'll find use for it, but it's far more likely that God never meant for this thing to be put to any sort of regular use. God's a dick like that sometimes.
One last thing, and I promise you that this will be the only time I reference the same Simpsons episode twice in sequential posts, but how much does this creepy son of a bitch look like Ken Griffey Jr. after he downed a gross of nerve tonic?
That's what we in the business call some creepy shit. Damn creepy shit. Watch your back Ozzie Smith, I'm coming for you next.
Thursday, February 28, 2008