Macaroni Pictures: When it’s not “good”, it’s just “good compared to your usual crap”. PLUS #CocksNotGlocks shout-out!

Herewith my first stumbling attempt to use acrylic paint and canvas: My “painting” (I gagged a little bit when I said that) on the left, my photo on the right.

Oh, it is not. Oh, stop it.

Really? You think so?

I call this kind of work macaroni pictures. This subtle-as-an-alt-right-with-a-brick allusion is to the work that I produced, alongside my tiny, hapless colleagues, in kindergarten: bits of dried macaroni stuck haphazardly on construction paper.

This you would bring home to your mother.

“Oh my, would you look at that!” mine would exclaim, crushing out her Player’s A King Sized. Her compliments, with hindsight, were almost forensically non-committal, but always expressed with the forced gaiety and vocal extravagance of a coloratura soprano warming up for the sock-it-to-’em act one finale.

And she would give me a quick cigarette-breath kiss, with just enough enthusiasm to convince a needy six-year-old but not enough to cause me physical trauma through any swift, unintentional contact with her granite-solid hairdo, then stick the macaroni picture on the door of our avocado-green fridge.

My picture would quietly disappear a few days later, like the victim of a Stalinist purge, possibly incorporated into a plate of Kraft Dinner and hot dogs (and in my mother’s case, also possibly incorporating the construction paper); and my brief stab of sorrow at its passing was more than balanced by the flicker of relief that no macaroni picture existed as proof of my total inadequacy.

The whole episode, in fact, was a lesson in middle-class “whatever is unpleasant yet necessary shall be done but not discussed”, a fine-art version of eating the family pet.

“Macaroni picture” thus became my description for any creative attempt that falls laughably short in the objective scheme of things when measured against those with true talent (0 on a scale of 1 to 10, let’s say), yet still demands our unbridled enthusiasm towards the perpetrator because it’s “a good attempt FOR A —

[six-year-old / mentally challenged co-worker/ recovering alcoholic / soon-to-be-ex partner]”

or whichever clingy, whiny bag of ballast you need to validate at that moment in order to ensure your and their mental well-being and make them shut the fuck up.

It’s the cultural relativist point of view. (I gagged a little bit when I said that.)

My friend is a talented artist and he explained that his first attempts were simply practising color gradations; he felt aiming for anything remotely ambitious would produce only inadequate (to his mind) and discouraging results.

But I’m made of stupider stuff. My existential position: “Take what you do well, throw it out, and try something you haven’t got a clue about.”

I’m not worried about my results being inadequate, because I’ve learned that the results are always inadequate. It’s the process that I’m looking for.

(I gagged a little … etc. etc.)

Actions can be macaroni pictures, too. Some top-of-mind examples:

Hillary makes a macaroni picture every time she gets a weeny bit closer to telling the total, unvarnished truth.

Honey, that’s lovely! On the fridge you go!

Trump makes macaroni towers, macaroni condos, macaroni kidney-shaped swimming pools, every time he flip flops and contradicts himself in such an endearingly imbecilic way that he seems almost Yuman. By evening, though, he’s back on script and frothing like a pack of pit bulls at the thought of how much more Yuge he’ll get when he blows the planet to smithereens.

Donald! Naughty billionaire! Go to your Tower, and no foie gras din-dins for you!

Your alcoholic buddy makes a macaroni picture every time she stands up at a 12-step revival meeting and proclaims, “I was NICE to someone today!!”

Well done, darling! Can I tell you something? Regular people do that all the time! But you tried, so a big “E” for extra macaroni! But no sauce!

Kidding!! L O friggin’ L!!

Your millenial friend makes a great, big piece of construction paper covered with ziti when she puts down her device and washes the dishes she left in the sink three months ago.

Ahhhh, baby! That’s so thoughtful — do you know what you just did? You just thought of someone besides yourself! Your macaroni masterpiece is going in the entrance hall, and tomorrow — pull-up pants!!!

We all make macaroni pictures when we take a deep breath and stop drafting that perfect, shattering, logical yet haughty reply to that right-wing libertarian troll who’s just referred to you as “Hitler”.

Cause there’s always tomorrow. Right?


And a shout-out to those feisty free-thinkers at the University of Texas at Austin,

who with great wit and quite decent-sized balls are throwing their defiant weight against the troglodyte forces of the NRA and its rabid gun-loving demographic, the “guns don’t kill, people do” brigade.

Five feisty feminist freshers flaunting phalluses.

Guns, unbelievably, are now permitted on campus — but sex toys, it seems, are not. It’s the old “make love, not war” thing, and it does my bleeding, socialist-libtard Canadian heart good to see these young ‘uns recreating the original »Summer of Love , but with better fashion and less armpit hair.

Their Facebook page makes interesting reading (the version of “interesting” that takes “American Psycho” as a baseline calibration). There you will discover such endearing responses as ONE LADY’S POST, WRITTEN WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON, consisting primarily of the words “CUNT” and “BITCH”; men calling the protesters “sluts” — have we covered all the bases around “modelling how to treat women with respect” and “grown-up discourse”? — and at least one dimwit expressing the opinion that the Virginia Tech massacre in April, 2007, occurred because the students weren’t armed.

Well, no. The Virginia Tech massacre occurred because the perpetrator was. Is this rocket science?

Obscenity: I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it, and I see obscenity as the legal “right” to carry a concealed weapon on a university campus, an institution supposedly dedicated to higher learning, the wonder of discovery and the cross-pollination of minds, not to mention the usual satanic promotion of the gay agenda and sponsorship of your son or daughter’s first, tentative forays into group sex while shit-faced drunk. (Expert tip: Don’t forget that bottle of “g”!)

If y’all want to learn more, follow the link below. And be grateful that the currrent generation is smart, surprisingly light-hearted considering what they’ve been burdened with, and most importantly: willing and more than able to speak truth to power.

I have a dream, brothers and sisters. And it looks a lot like Campus Dildo Carry.

» Cocks not Glocks (Campus Dildo Carry)

Hi, my name is David, and I blog at A Slow, Painful Death Would Be Too Good For You (and other observations). I’ve just got my 50th “like” there, so I only hope your autograph book is back from the cleaners. Seriously!

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