Beginning the new year of 2018 with a Psycho Bunny sketch of the week. However. Allow me to be slightly candid.
It just seems as almost everyone couldn’t wait for 2018 to be over. Basically 2018 was a year of disappointments. It wasn’t all bad – there was good times during the year. I think going to all those concerts, especially during the summer was among some of the high points. Did loads of new artwork, and landed some good commissions. On the personal front, that’s when things went sour. Five people from different periods of my life died during the course of 2018. Out of the five, two were formerly close friends, while one was from the present. Attending the latter’s funeral just reminded me of my own mother’s passing in 2015. There was a lot of betrayal. My arm became flexible as I had to take a few knives out of my back. Then there was the discovery that I was being used.
Not pulling the victim card, however. It is what it is. Perhaps that guy who I had met on the Metro North back in October was correct. When he told me that the secret to life “…is not giving a fuck.” If you look at his drunken statement from a Buddhist point of view, it just means not being attached to anything. It makes sense.
2018 stunk to the very end. Right before new year’s eve, some jerk off had the nerve to ask me over the phone if I had “art connections.” Oh. Is that the reason for the conversation? How convenient. My response: “If I had any art connections, I certainly wouldn’t be sharing them with you.”
If you were in NYC, did you go to Times Square to watch the ball drop? I didn’t. No self respecting resident of New York City puts themselves through that. People who live in NYC do not foolishly freeze in the street. We have much better options. We have clubs, we have bars, we have parties, we have friends, or at least friends of friends that will let us crash those parties. Better yet, real New Yorkers will gladly stay at home watching new year eve television coverage while some lame mainstream pop singer lip-syncs some auto tuned song. Because we pay enough money on the rent damnit! So we’re gonna stay under the bed sheets and get our money’s worth! If a native New Yorker does go to Times Square, it’s this. It would be at some party on the 23rd floor with the perfect window view laughing at the tourists below. We’re going to munch on the free buffet while the open bar has top shelf liquor, thank you very much. So the fact is, only silly tourists will stand in Times Square in the cold rain while they pee in their pants. If you were one of these silly tourists, I hope you catch the flu.
Okay. Let’s say you get some cabin fever and decide to go out after all. To bring in 2019, I went to a Goth party in Bushwick. We were having a good time at first. The music was good. Slowly the annoying hipsters crept in. Two such drunks came up from behind us on the dance floor. How could we forget them, for they blew into a Viking ox horn near our ears. You know these millennials would not survive one second in Ragnarok. No, I don’t mean Marvel’s version of Thor.
Anyway, these douchey millennials show up. One guy took off his coat. Once he did that, we could smell the B.O. He stood on the dance floor with his unkempt hair and beard. Looking more like an early ’90s Grunge reject with his flannel shirt as he drank his beer. Is it suddenly edgy not to shower? At this point, the body odor could not be ignored. He wasn’t homeless, nor was he a chaos punk squatter. He was some hipster schmuck that probably lived in some gentrified apartment formerly rented to some working class family. Maybe even in an area that used to be heavily ethnic. Then he had the nerve to show up in a sub-cultural party, particularly a party from one of my favorite sub cultures, smelling like a pig trough. Dude had no reason not to take a bath.
Hey. At least my last meal of 2018 was a nice sushi dinner.
If you come this far, thanks for reading my rants.
Now here’s Psycho Bunny, since he’s recovered from his hangover…
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