“The dumbest-ass thing you could do is read a review of this instead of reading it. It takes like 5 minutes. Figure it out for yourself. GOD, stop expecting brave reviewers like myself, handsome, brave reviewers to figure out everything for you.
Instead of reviewing this book, I’ll have my own Conversation #1. With myself.
Artsy Pete: What is the point of art, really? Can you ask about the point of something if it’s pointless?
Fartsy Pete: If people knew how much I tweeted from the toilet, they would know how seriously to take me.
Artsy Pete: And sometimes talking about the function of art, does that make it not art?
Fartsy Pete: You know what they should do? They should have kids make siren sounds and record them and then play those sounds as the sirens. That’d be a lot more fun.
Artsy Pete: And then there’s the authenticity question.
Fartsy Pete: Yeah! Like Chinese food. People always tell you that Chinese food in America isn’t authentic. But it’s delicious. Should we just call it American food instead? If it’s American? Then it would be like totally authentic?
Artsy Pete: Sometimes I feel like we’re not even really having a conversation. I’m saying profound things, and you’re saying whatever comes to mind.
Fartsy Pete: If I was a lesser comedian, I’d write about seeing a squirrel out the window. But I’m funny as fuck, so I’ll just say that I’m paying attention to you on a 4 out of 10. I’ve got a hemerrohioid right now that’s raging. Just raging.
Artsy Pete: Did you spell hemerrhoid right?
Fartsy Pete: No. Did you?
Artsy Pete: No.
Fartsy Pete: Hemi-roid, diearhhea, all the butt stuff is hard to spell. Now that’s a deep thought. Deep in your butt!
~
I’ll use this opportunity to point out that you could’ve read a deep conversation about art, ILLUSTRATED by two masters, in the time you just spent here, dumbass!”