Recently acquired art
A raccoon lives in the painting of a farmhouse that hangs on my bedroom wall. I bought it at a garage sale for six dollars, the cost of six scratch-off lottery tickets, which is about a dollar's worth of fun, but if fun in your life is at a premium, I see nothing wrong with the lottery.
Sometimes the raccoon fills the foreground entirely, warm and fuzzy and irate.
"What a cute mask," I say as I tap on the glass.
It hisses and gives a little raccoon bark.
"What a funny little nose you have," I say as I tap again.
It snaps, flinging rabies against the glass. The frame rattles and threatens to fall.
Even if it does fall, raccoon, I always have my art framed with plexiglass and extra tacks. You're in there for good, you two dimensional bastard.
Sometimes the raccoon fills the foreground entirely, warm and fuzzy and irate.
"What a cute mask," I say as I tap on the glass.
It hisses and gives a little raccoon bark.
"What a funny little nose you have," I say as I tap again.
It snaps, flinging rabies against the glass. The frame rattles and threatens to fall.
Even if it does fall, raccoon, I always have my art framed with plexiglass and extra tacks. You're in there for good, you two dimensional bastard.
posted by JMH | 10:04 PM
4 Comments:
Raccoons aren't so bad - I'm really glad it's not a possum! Ick. Those things make me ill.
Is it their little baby hands? If it weren't completely inappropriate and probably criminal, I'd like to replace an unattended baby in a stroller with a mostly sedated possum, with the full intention of returning the baby of course.
Yeah, that would not go over well.
This brings new meaning to realism. And still life. I hate real lifes. So needy/insane.
Ha! Yes.
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