As a Weird American, I often think of lots of weird things. Penises having sword fights. Sex vampires with two carotid arteries. Teenage girls looking at giant-headed fetuses in jars. You name it… and well it was probably too mundane for me to imagine if you named it with your normal naming powers. Think of something that makes your skin crawl and causes you to doubt your sanity. Yup. That’s the one. I thought of that one.
Pretty sick, isn’t it?
Anyhow, none of these things could ever be graphically represented if not for my harem of women illustrators. Why do they do this? What compels them to draw things which are better left undrawn? Who can say.
Nevertheless, a more sophisticated group of dames you shall never find.
Annesofie, aka Sark, is from Denmark. To Weird Americans like myself, this is endlessly fascinating. Once, while away at art school, Annesofie received news that her father had passed away under mysterious circumstances. She returned to find her mother had married her uncle, which as you can imagine made her a little more than kin and a little less than kind.*
After using her art to overcome the fatalism which might have caused her to lose the name of action, Annesofie painted a picture of herself painting a picture of her uncle murdering her father. This so amazed her uncle that his head exploded, the shrapnel of which killed everyone that Annesofie loved, teaching her that sometimes meta isn’t quite as awesome as people seem to think.
Annesofie has drawn me many things from a sex vampire to a walrus mermaid. I intend to annoy her further in the future. For her gifts are many and mighty.
*I seriously never get over the level of fucking genius in Shakespeare’s plays.
Kristin has the ability to draw any seemingly innocent object and make it sinister. How does she do this? I’ll be honest. I don’t really have any fucking idea. But I saw a carousel she painted once, and immediately pulled a bedspread over myself, turned on a flashlight and began panting. When paramedics arrived three days later I had soiled myself and was told I would not stop reciting the Lord’s prayer.
How she acquired this ability, however, is a matter of well established historical record. Kristin grew up in pre WWII Japan, living in a Bamboo cage at a school for girl-artists. In order that she might never draw something which would express hope, Kristin was locked in the cage with a Panda Bear… which did not molest her, as I am not Scooter Libby and I am in charge of this fake scenario. Instead, the Panda read her depressing Russian Literature before noon.
As is known, reading Russian Literature before noon has roughly the same effects as feeding a Mogwai after midnight. As the Panda read aloud paragraph after paragraph of “The Brothers Karamzov” Kristin began to shudder. Slowly her body contorted. Her eyes became round. Her black hair turned white-blonde. Her skin became white.
And she stopped aging.
Upon receiving intelligence of the horrifying experiments taking place at this school, American GI’s gassed the compound. Kristin survived only by finding an abandoned gas mask and fleeing into the chaos. Confused for a white person, she was brought to America where her sinister artistic abilities were of pivotal use in drafting the schematics for the first Atom Bomb.
She may look like any other 18 year old Art Student… but beware! For she has painted me a fetus in a jar… and it is amazing. You can find more of Kristin on her flickr page.
I never hate myself quite so much as when I am in the presence of a super nice, super respectable, super talented person.
Oh yes, I may have a sort of back burner self-loathing at all times just in case I am attacked by a demon that feeds on narcissism… but oh boy… just wait until someone like ShawShaw comes along. All at once, my wasted potential and squandered talents begin to throb like kicked testicles.
I used to think this was because ShawShaw was just an uncomfortably nice person like my Mormon neighbor, or the Mormon girl I work with who loves horses, or the other Mormon girl I work with who bakes pies. But oh no. I should have known better… because ShawShaw isn’t even Mormon!
ShawShaw is actually a Passive Aggressive Dementor.
Brought into this world by the ritual sacrifice of JK Rowling, ShawShaw assumed the shape of a… ShawShaw… yeah… she assumed the shape of a ShawShaw! You heard me! It’s a shape! Then, instead of out right hounding people, ShawShaw decided to make people hound themselves by being uncomfortably nice and responsible. And all… just adultish. Blegh. It’s really gross.
See my banner? See how good it is and how much time was taken in its construction? ShawShaw made it for me. Why? Because she’s never happy until she’s made me hate myself a little bit more than I already do.