Rover's got a fullhouse, bitches.

I don’t “get” art. Especially paintings.

And, if you are anything like me — tall, dark, delightfully charming — then you don’t either.

I really don’t see why Mona Lisa is “better” than any variation of Dog’s Playing Poker. To me, Mona Lisa looks like some cranky chick trying to force a smile. Probably because her sister – Mona Elaine – is more popular than her due to the fact that she puts out. Like a demon.

Of course, I’m also the dude that thought “Voice of Fire” should be re-titled “Smurf Wearing Red Thong #1.”

You don’t want to get me started on “Voice of Fire.” I could have “created” that with two buckets of Benjamin Moore, a roll of masking tape and a couple of rollers. The Canadian government paid $1.5 million for it.

*golf clap*

I’ve come up with a method to try to make paintings more interesting to me. However, I’m not sure if I am “appreciating art” in the right way. You be the judge…

Let’s take “Waitress serving Bocks” by Manet.


Rather than research the painting, or Manet himself, instead I created a “story” for it.

The waitress is named Janelle Dubois. Seven days a week she slings draft in a sketchy bar in the south of France. But, don’t get me wrong, Janelle has dreams. She refuses to be defined by her current station. And she’s tried to better her situation constantly ever since she was a young girl. She has gotten married 7 times. Each ending badly.

Plague.
Plague.
Plague.
Stolen by Marie Antoinette.
Plague.
Plague.
Plague.

Janelle knows that she is no spring chicken. Or poulet de les printemps, if you will. And I think you will.

Most recently, Janelle appeared on “South of France Idol.” Her randy version of a French beer drinking song went over well with the male judges – Sir Simon of Cowell and Randy, Son of Jack. However, a 29 year old Paula Abdul wasn’t won over, despite her post performance comments, “You’ve got to follow your dreamsbfjdbs… When you sing I see a glow… You look amazing tonight… especially considering the cholera and all… Whooo!”

Janelle didn’t make it to the top ten, which was especially painful because she really could have used the brand new wagon they were giving out as a prize.

So, Janelle is back slinging drinks. And this night feels like any other. That is until she sees him.

His name is Shamus McSketchyton.

Immediately Janelle knew he was different. Firstly he was wearing a kilt – which she dug – and secondly, only about 80% of him was covered with filth. If he had even half of his teeth, she was going to be all over him like flies on… well, most everything.

Shamus had a story too. He was a producer. He produced both a traveling freakshow and a stationary, well, freakshow.

He had just returned from the far east where he saw a woman perform an unbelievable trick with a pong* ball. And he was looking for a local woman to train to perform it in one of his shows.

[*The “ping” wouldn’t get added for another 25 years. Pong was a game much like the current version of ping pong, except it was played with just one person. Let’s face it, the ball hit the floor a lot. It was actually pretty hard on the back, what with all the bending and whatnot.]

Shamus spotted Janelle too.

Their eyes met. Two lost souls connecting. How much was real connection and how much was potential opportunity?

Only Manet can answer that for you.

As an interesting aside, it is widely rumoured that Randy, son of Jack opened a poker hall soon after, where he frequently referred to the players as his “dogs.”

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