When I was eight years old I remember sitting on the bus when my friend Chris had a drawing. A drawing that he like did. By himself. He was a pretty great drawer. I fancied myself as a pretty good drawer too. In fact, I fancied myself as the best drawer and if I wasn’t the best then fuck it and fuck you. My dad hit me.
I looked at Chris’s drawing. It was a muscle man. I was like,
ME: “That’s a pretty good drawing, Chris. What’s that a wrestler?”
Inside ME: FUCK YOU
ME: “It’s good. I bet I could probably do it better.”
Inside ME: FUCK YOU CHRIS
ME: “Let me take it home and look at it I bet I could draw a better one.”
I took it home and I traced it. The whole fucking thing. The pecs, the speedo, the too many abs and arm muscles. When I was done I added long hair, a hair band and a cool goatee. I’ve always regretted that but tonight I realized something. Chris’ guy’s hair sucked. He was smooth faced and he didn’t even have a head band. Now I realize that Chris had nothing. I rule. That’s art. Fuck chris.5 days ago • 3 notes