I break hearts not chairs.

Actually, I do break chairs and really haven't broken any hearts. That's besides the point. Recently I noticed a few negative blog posts about me. They imply that I'm fat and say that I'm an idiot. Fair enough. But in my defense, I broke those chairs sitting. Here is a true story about other furniture that I had no part in breaking.


One morning, I woke up to find this. This is a picture of my living room. Notice anything weird about the couch? Take a look at the makeshift leg made up of literature.


"Uncle Tom's Cabin". Sounded disgusting. "Emma". Well I won't even bring up old shit. "Lies My Teacher Told Me". I actually read it, pretty good. But "MOJO" magazine. Really didn't leave anything to the imagination. Obviously the results of foul play. But what exactly? I pondered for hours.


This was on the coffee table. The perpetrators must have had a midnight snack before they, seemingly, knocked boots.


I looked at the party pictures from the night before when I came across this haunting picture. This is Dan 'dancing' at the party he was at. Please pay attention to his pose and use your imagination to create an idea of what kind of activities (think sexual) he is looking for after a long night of partying. Definitely doesn't look like he's interested in leaving any room for the Holy Spirit. Hey English major, didn't think I knew what foreshadowing was?


Now add this overwhelmingly happy guy. This picture was taken earlier in the day when we were on our way to make modern postmodern egg-carton-art. I think he just found out there was going to be a little Guided By Voices at the after party he was going to in the evening hours. Mouth wide-open. I didn't ask him to see his tonsils and I'm pretty sure Dan didn't either...or did he?


I was onto something but I really needed to know how broke the couch was to help develop a mental reenactment of what actually took place. I sat on it and just as I expected, it was broke, broke as fuck. It must have taken a lot of movement and a lot of weight to break the shit out of it. The couch is made out of the finest wicker Canada has to offer (probably about all it has to offer).


Then, I came across this picture. That pizza box stared at me and this time I wasn't frightened. (The last time I was scared shitless. I drank too much at C.O.'s and ended up with a girl who had genital warts). (Hint: think 'box'.)

By now you should probably be able to create a vivid, yet disgusting, mental image of what happened. If not, I did it for you. I created a work of art (influenced by Piet Mondrian, if you didn't know that, you might have more fun here). Banksy isn't the only one that can hang stuff up in 'museums' and get away with it. Look with your eyes, see with your soul.



So that's that. Mondrian even said it himself (with my help). From Plastic Art and Pure Plastic Art (1937). “Although art (dingdong sex) is fundamentally everywhere and always the same (wouldn't know), nevertheless two main human inclinations (PG way to put it), diametrically opposed to each other (at least that's what Jesus says), appear in its many and varied expression. One aims at the direct creation of universal beauty (Dan's), the other at the aesthetic expression of oneself (Matt's), in other words, of that which one thinks and experiences.”

I think I will name this mystery Game of Pricks.