Today’s Public Enema Is…
Someone asked me who the flying heck the Fried Egg Man is supposed to be.
Apparently, art is supposed to have a deep and intestinal level of profoundness to it. I answered back, like the troglodyte that I am - with various grunts.
The capacity for me to understand who the Fried Egg Man represents, is absolutely beyond me. I don’t understand how UHT milk works, but drinking a glass of it is the sure as hell the happiest moment of my day! I don’t give a hoot what any of my art means, I just get an idea by the cold cuts aisle at the supermarket (where I get most of my ideas) and I quickly scribble it down on an old receipt from when I bought a hammer, before the idea swims away from me.
I write on old receipts and napkins before I blow my nose with them. There, I said it - the magic is gone.
Anyways, I just came here to say listen to Let’s Pretend We’re Bunny Rabbits by The Magnetic Fields.
