Oxford Commas, and Unpaid Bills


14 ominous musical notes, mostly on electric guitars. You know ’em and can sing them this way, like I did this morning: “Now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now…”

Loop it umpteen bars like blood and pus swirling around a rusty old drain, soaking your brain in pain, shame, regret, Oxford commas, and unpaid bills.

“I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” by four guys every motherfucker on the planet knew decades ago.

Sing it with me …now, now, now, now, now, now…

The first picture is upside down. Here’s the funny thing, I didn’t realize it; it wasn’t planned; I was sort of asleep; it was the middle of the night; I think I have a brain tumor; or I am listening to the howling of the dog next door.

Compare [1/100] with this post and you’ll see that it looks more like a face, a sort of long-snouted goat wearing a colored top hat:

Smiling? Or cleft lip? Or brain tumor?

Artists are liars. But you knew that, right?

They’re all what when you think you are done.

Also, most of their form is analog, although its delivery can be digital. As this apparently is. The whiny dog next door may disagree.

Let’s end this shitshow with a new drawing that adds cats to the equation just so we can sing the same old song with a different lyric — helps if we all hold hands and sway side-to-side and purr at each other now: “Meow, meow, meow…”

100 Days of Whatever and Fuck you (1–25–2017)

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