28 February 2009

All Good Things Must Come To A...WAIT A MINUTE!!

Hey guys,

It's been a tough couple of dream weeks. First, my gold fish died. Then, it came back to life but had a taste for human flesh. Then I woke up. But since then, I've had a tough couple of weeks. No longer "living" in New York. Yadda yadda yadda. Here are some things I do to keep in good spirits:

1) Finger Go In Butt
You'd be surprised how good it can make you feel to jimmy a couple knuckles into the old kaboose.

2) Finger Go In Urethra
Wowzers! I'd been masturbating the normal way for far too long. The tissue inside your penis is much more sensitive, because you haven't been trying to fuck bricks all week to win a bet with that Skate Zone DJ.

3) Self Go To Doctor
If you're feeling down, or you completed step two immediately after step one, just hit the old "Turkish Medical Baths." That's my terminology for "Hospital". A word if you please: dine and dash on hospital visits. They can't catch you, since you get a short speed boost after grabbing a health pack.

4) This:

5) Boiling Water Party Tricks
I've realized accidentally that if you have a pot of water boiling, it won't be scalding right away. When you see the bubbles forming on the bottom, call your buddies over and be like "Hola buddies! My hands are too cold. I know how to warm them up!" Then plunge them in the water and start screaming. Or splash the whole thing on one of your friends to make them think you're trying to permanently scar them.

Awesome. Now go have fun.

25 February 2009


I did a Google image search for "wowzers," and this was the first picture. Consider it an apology letter for never updating. Imagine that Inspector Gadget is saying this:

Dear forgiving and loyal Taste Your Maker readers,

Did you see this awesome mirror I have? I found it last night. I was driving down the highway, and there was a flash from the side of the road. When I went to check things out, I found a car in which several grenades had gone off. Holy tomatoes! Then I found this mirror.

Great Gatsby

23 February 2009

Taste Your Awards

Now, the moment you've been waiting for all year. The birth of your baby girl.Congrats!

Also, the other moment you've been waiting for all year. The Taste Your Maker Academy has been busily poring over the 36 nominees for this year's Taste Your Awards. And they've decided that all 36 nominees are winners! Except for 26 of them. Because they are homosexual.

Nominees: The woman whose husband died in 9/11, Hudson River Plane
Winner: The woman whose husband died in 9/11 watching the news coverage of the Hudson River Plane

Nominees: Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Winner: Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Nominees: Jehovah, Yahweh, Penis with Face Drawn On It In Permanent Marker, God, Muslim God
Winner: Muslim God

Nominees: Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight, Kate Winslet in The Reader, The 'Heath Ledger's Ghost' Dancers in Slumdog Millionaire, The 'Heath Ledger's Ghost' Dancers in The Dark Knight
Winner: Penis with Face Drawn On It In Permanent Marker

Nominees: Mickey Rourke, Penis with Face Drawn On It In Permanent Marker
Winner: Mickey Rourke's Penis with Face Drawn On It In Permanent Marker

Nominees: Ice Cubes, Liquid Nitrogen, The Outside, Nicole Kidman, Ice Man
Winner: Mrs. Nicole "Ice Man" Kidman

Nominees: the movie Braveheart, the movie Apollo 13, the movie Babe, the movie Il Postino, the movie Sense and Sensibility
Winner: the movie Heat

Nominees: Gary Indiana, Mobile Alabama, Phoenix Arizona, Bismarck North Dakota, New York, L.A., Houston, Tampa Bay, London, Tokyo
Winner: Everywhere you go

And now, the moment you've all actually been waiting for. The birth of your son.


All year long, artists and objects near and far have been perfecting their craft in order to be called the "Hardest To Fuck" of 2009. Here are the nominees.

Nominees: Someone with Vaginismus, Taffy, Two bricks tied together with some rope, Onion powder in boiling water, Another penis

Winner: The woman whose husband died in 9/11 watching the news coverage of the Hudson River Plane

Honestly, who saw that coming?

22 February 2009

You've Been Rick Roll'd

I have created a new, much more bizarre video to use in Rick Rolling.

You may use this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBoY3ccSzrE

21 February 2009

Simon and Fartfunkel

My original plan for this was a full-length album, but I decided to limit myself to one song. Because I got bored making it. And there's nothing I hate more than being bored. Which you should know by now.

Please download and distribute: Simon and Fartfunkel - The Sound of Farting.

19 February 2009

NBC's Most Terrible Fucking Idea In The World

So if you've been following the news recently (and who hasn't?), then you'll know that NBC has canceled its hit show "To Catch A Predator" and replaced it with a similar show. This time, instead of cornering sex predators by luring them in via AIM, they're going after bigger fish: War Criminals.

You absolutely cannot make this shit up. NBC is trying to catch War Criminals with a TV show.

Besides the overwhelming realization that should be hitting you right now that the world is batshit insane, you should probably also be asking yourself how the fuck NBC plans on catching war criminals. Thankfully, I found a transcript from their first episode.


RacialPurity7: hey gurl. wut's up?
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: nuttin much. just doin racially stereotypical thingz that r preventing our countrie frum achievin greatness. wats up wit u
RacialPurity7: not much, just hangin uot
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: u meen hangin *out, lolz
RacialPurity7: yah
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: so u wanna come over
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: ??
RacialPurity7: i dont know, gotta lotta machetes to sharpen
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: u kno my legs is achin for sum choppin
RacialPurity7: rly
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: u kno it
RacialPurity7: dam baby, that sounds sweet as sugah.
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: u wanna cummit acts of terrorism on me?
RacialPurity7: id luv to commit sweet, sweet acts of terrorism all ovah yo body
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: u turnin me on, gary.
RacialPurity7: u kno it.
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: so u ready to target sum civilians all up in heer?
RacialPurity7: im gonna brake some serious geneva convention all over yo face
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: sounds brootal. u cummin ova
RacialPurity7: ill be ther in half hour
g3n0c1d3v1ct1m69: bring musterd gas

17 February 2009

You Cannot Make This Shit Up

Looking for a rock jam session
Reply to: XXX Date: 2009-02-17, 12:57PM EST

My daughter wants to be a guitar player, she has finshed all the Rockbands and guitar heros which i know doesnt make her a pro but for her Birthday in march i was wondering if anyone was having some sort of jam session that she could sit in on. I am buying her her first electric guitar for her Birthday. Any information would be soo appreciated i am just a mom trying to help my daughter with her dreams Thank you

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Compensation: To be discussed

16 February 2009

Shepard Fairey: A Real American Hero

So there's been a lot of crap about Shepard Fairey "appropriating" this Associated Press photo for his Barack Obama posters. Mostly because Shepard Fairey turned around and sued the Associated Press for claiming that he in some way used their photo to make the poster. Which is preposterous. Shepard Fairey would never use their photo to make insane amounts of money. Nor would he use their photo to take advantage of America's only weakness: big lettering. No, Shepard Fairey only vandalizes things.

Personally, I don't see any resemblance between the above images. Besides, as we all know, photography is not art. So I'm going to back Shepard Fairey on this one. Let's all give the man a pat on the back.

By the way, if you'd like a copy of my new Obama poster, they're available for $3,000 a piece. It's a limited printing. Made with hawk blood.

12 February 2009

This Hurts

Soliloquy On The Spring Equinox

She said, babe, you know I miss Jill and Joe and all my funky friends, but my street understanding was just enough to know what she really meant. And I got to thinking while she was talking that I know she told the story of those special places that she goes when she rides with the others in the subway, singing: "Don't turn around, uh-oh, Der Kommissar's in town, uh-oh." And if he talks to you, and you don't know why, you say your life is gonna make you die.

Well, we meet Jill and Joe and brother Herr, and the whole cool gang and they're rapping here, they're rapping there, but she's climbing on the wall. It's a clear case, Herr Kommissar, because all the children know they're all sliding down into the valley. They're all slipping on the same snow. Hear the children: "Don't turn around, uh-oh, Der Kommissar's in town, uh-oh." He's got the power, and you're so weak, and your frustration will not let you speak.

11 February 2009

An Open Letter To My Landlord

Hi Landlord!

Sorry I don't know your name. I think it's oriental or cuban, but I can't remember specifically.

Anyway, sometimes I see you shuffling around outside by the garbage or I smell ethnic cooking coming from your apartment, but for the most part, you and me don't hang out very much. Why is that? I know that you have your own life and everything...which is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.

What do you do all day? I really don't mean to offend you or anything, but I'm confused as to what you do all day. Besides shuffle around the garbage and make your own hummus. Because when me and the other people who pay you rent are gone all day earning rent for you, I'm worried that you don't do anything at all. Do you have any hobbies? I don't ever hear music coming from your apartment, so I don't think you're into the arts.

Then again, maybe you're into a different, silent art, like architecture or painting or maybe sculpture. But if you were into sculpture, I feel like you would probably be at a sculpture studio for most of the day, getting into sculpture stuff. Or that I would see you coming back from a sculpture show, dressed in a nice modern suit.

I know that if I could sit around all day with an enormous passive income, I'd probably turn even my most inane hobby into a lifelong pursuit. Like, if I were sort of into tables, I would spend my whole life trying to build a giant table out of something crazy like toothpicks. Then again, that's probably something I'd be more likely to do if I was into toothpicks, not tables.

Anyway, I'm writing because the internet I've been stealing from your apartment turned off yesterday, and I haven't had any internet access. Did you diminish the strength of your signal in order to keep me from getting online? Maybe you just accidentally unplugged it with your leg while you were making Pad Thai, and you just haven't noticed because you don't really like the internet very much, you just have it because it's convenient once in awhile and you have all that passive income to spend.

Anyway, that's about it. Hope things are alright.

Philip Brightmore
Champion Dog Breeder

10 February 2009

08 February 2009

Goofyville Is The Most Hilarious Place On The Internet

Thank Assfucking Christ.

Finally, a place on the internet that is hilarious. I thought we were at a loss for hilarious jokes on the internet, but it looks like I was wrong. I guess I shouldn't have bet the tip of my penis that there wasn't anything funny left on the internet.

Well, if you're anything like the tip of my penis, you're going to get a lot of enjoyment out of being hacked off by these hilarious jokes.

Welcome to Goofyville! Feast your bloodshot eyes on the horrifying wreckage from this F-5 tornado of comedy! Better yet, close those fucking eyes, or they'll probably tear open like virgin ass from the hilarious brain-rape that's about to take place. (My apologies for the mixed metaphor.)

I mean, come on guys!! You aren't convinced by the homepage??? What better way to subconsciously prepare you for imminent laughter evisceration than with a HILARIOUS CARTOON GECKO!!! IT'S LIKE HE'S STICKING TO THE GLASS OF YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN AS IF BY MAGIC.

Let's begin.

I don't get it, what does Burger King do to you? If you've got speakers, head on over to the page itself...but don't be surprised when you start ejaculating unstoppably. It's a good idea to have a bucket around, or someone with deep sinuses.


Burger King makes you sing Carol Of The Bells, replacing the words with things about Burger King!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAAHHHHAAAAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111!1

That was pretty good, Goofyville. I'm glad Sandra was here, and I'm especially glad she had such empty sinuses. But I have to tell you, that hilarious Carol Of The Bells/Burger King joke wasn't nearly as cum-enducing as my favorite flash video from 2002. You know, the one where the Crazy Frog voice makes race car sounds? Yeah, that one. So I'm only as excited for you as I am for the rapture, instead of being as excited for you as I am for the super rapture (come on, wrath of God!).

Well, Goofyville, I should probably get back to substitute teaching this third grade class. I guess we'll always have Pari--


HOLY SHIT!!!!!! You got to warn me before you do that, Goofyville. I'm going to have to call a steam cleaner to get the semen off all these eight-year-olds.

Well, Goofyville, you certainly are the website for hilarious audio over photos of things. But you'll never be the website for workplace related jokes, especially for jokes about how bosses are mean or not smart. I guess we'll always have Pari--
AAAHCHCCCCHHHH! Holy Christ Alive! You just deflated my prostate like a fucking water balloon, Goofyville! Jesus Christ! Do you have any idea when to stop? Any fucking idea?

Well, you've certainly proven yourself master of visual and audio comedy, Goofyville. I will never again underestimate your impeccably ejaculatory use of images and sound to induce me to ejaculate until I die. Ejaculate. Sure, you may not have the narrative jokes down, like cute story jokes, but at least you've got the other stuff going your way. I guess we'll always have Pari--HOLY GODFUCKING DOGPENISES!!!!!!!!!! I JUST CRACKED MY HEAD OPEN ON THE COUNTER! Oh my God...now I'm cautiously pulling out pieces of my own brain and looking at them inquisitively!!

Well, Goofyville, you certainly do cause me to fall and crack my head open with comedy. But at least I'll always have those Yo Mama jokes I've been crafting since middle school. You and me, Goofyville, we'll always have Pari--
OH MY...wait, what? Why would there be people drawn on the map?

Goofyville. I know we've only been together for a short time, but I think...well...I think I'm starting to fall in love with you. No, don't look at me like that, I know a love like ours could never be. But maybe, one day, you'll find it in your heart to give some hope to a guy like me. Maybe I'll catch you in a crowd, and you'll flash me your characteristic smile, and I'll sense, if only for the moment, that a love like ours is possible...if only in dreams.

Until then, we'll always have Pari--

Seriously? Nothing else? You're a fucking cunt, Goofyville.

Ironic Compliments Superimposed On Photos Of Broken Things

I saw a band tonight called Jagula at Freddy's in Brooklyn. They were the inspiration for this series of ironic compliments superimposed on photos of broken things.

07 February 2009

Happy Waitangi Day (NZL)

You should know that I don't take holidays very fucking lightly. When it's time to celebrate, it's time to motherfucking celebrate. Is it MLK Jr. Day? Then let's get trashed and buy some heroin so we can shoot up the neighbor's dog! What's that? Presidents Day is around the corner? I know a liquor store that will sell us tattoo kits!

When the normal, average beer-drinking Joe comes across a holiday that he doesn't understand, such as Waitangi Day (NZL), his reaction is usually to ignore it, then wake his wife up so he can slap her around a little before making her clean up the vomit in his car.

But not me. On Waitangi Day, I celebrate the only way I know how. By photoshopping animal heads onto famous landmarks. Hell, it's my day, and I'm going to fucking celebrate whatever way I damn well please.

Mr. Kitty is on the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Why is it leaning? Probably because Mr. Kitty has a fat fucking head.
Sydney Opera Horse.
This ended up looking like a giraffe standing in front of the Hollywood sign, which was against my Waitangi Day wishes. I have failed you, Eerie Spirit of Waitangi Day. Slash my Waitangi Day wrists with your ghost blades!!!
This is basically how it looks anyway.

I can't exactly put my finger on why this is so offensive. But it is.

05 February 2009

The New Years Resolution I've Already Broken

We all make promises we can't keep. That's what divorce is for. But during the shitfaced glory of New Years Eve, our OE-swilling nation huddles together to promise a bunch of batshit crazy things that we could never accomplish in a thousand years. I've already broken mine. So let me be a lesson to you. Or whatever.

My resolution was to stop using images from the Las Vegas news bureau. Goddamn your well-crafted database of high-res PR photos, Las Vegas news bureau! I hope you rot in hell for the beautiful images you've provided free of charge for the press!

04 February 2009

Candid Pictures Of Celebrities Who Have Just Realized They're Being Photographed

Ah, yes. The candid shot of a celebrity that's taken at the exact moment when the celebrity realizes they're being photographed (CSCEMCRTBP). There's nothing quite so tragically adorable.

Except maybe heroin-addicted unicorns.Now that's what I call tragically adorable! Lay off the H, Gary. It's bad for your unicorn fur.

Now before we begin, you should know that I didn't take any of these. Because I'm a good person. Just kidding. It's because I don't live in LA. Which makes me a good person. So, chicken or the egg.
What you're looking at is a textbook example of a pre-glance CSCEMCRTBP. It's got everything we're looking for--incredibly boring framing, food chewing, awkward pose, but most importantly, the timing is impeccable. Jenna Fischer has just realized that something isn't quite right about her surroundings, but wait! Her eyeline hasn't reached the photographer yet. This is like the Bigfoot of CSCEMCRTBP's. In your studies, you will come across very few, if any.

Now, some of my colleagues will point out that the above is several milliseconds too premature to be considered a CSCEMCRTBP. But these colleagues also fail to accept my hypothesis that peripheral vision and feelings of malaise should be taken into account during CSCEMCRTBP taxonomy. It's an ongoing academic battle. One in which I don't expect you to take sides.
I'm offering you this photo as a quick quiz. Is this a CSCEMCRTBP? The framing is amateur, we have an assistant in the photo and the pose is awkward, so you might be tempted to say "yes." Look closer, though, and you might be surprised. While it seems as if John Krasinski has seen the camera, upon closer inspection, he's looking off to the right of the photographer. I can only assume that when his eyeline reaches the portly, fanny-packed gentleman holding the zoom lens, the results will be different. Something like this:
While this isn't a textbook CSCEMCRTBP, we still have a lot of great elements. The half-wave while holding the bottle is particularly novel, and the assistant makes a perfectly ruinous framing for the event. But what keeps this from being a textbook CSCEMCRTBP is the faux-jovial response of John Krasinski, complete with what I can only assume is a jaded smile. A true CSCEMCRTBP would involve deep and bitter feelings of disgust. While those feelings may exist, they aren't being presented by Mr. Krasinski.

Touche, Mr. Krasinski. Touche.
I offer this as an example of an incredibly amateur CSCEMCRTBP. There are some rookie mistakes here you should watch out for. First of all, it's clear that these people noticed the camera at least two seconds prior to the snap--which, to be completely honest, is about 1.8 seconds too late. We've also got a canted frame here, which just won't do for a pro CSCEMCRTBP. Square, boring and dismissive is the name of the game.

In the above, however, it is a bonus that I don't recognize the celebrities. These particular celebrities also decided that closing their eyes was a good way to keep from being seen. This kind of idiocy is very rare and should be documented.

03 February 2009

10 Reasons Christian Bale Is My Hero

Since I've begun freelancing for USD, my day job and home life have begun to intersect in some Lynchian ways. I find myself watching porn during my lunch breaks, browsing YouTube during my cigarette breaks, smoking during my porn breaks and generally eating more Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream Chips than can logically be digested by an adult male in a twenty-four hour period. My bowel movements look like this:
I also listened to Christian Bale on repeat all day long, as the new soundtrack to my life:

It's a tape that leaked recently, featuring an impossibly angry Christian Bale screaming at his Director of Photography for walking across his eyeline during a scene. The result of the tape has been a ton of media backlash against Bale, who was also accused of assaulting his mother and sister around the same time this incident occured.

Here is why Christian Bale is my Hero:

1) By the end of the tape, the word "Fuck" has entirely lost all meaning. It might as well be the word "lubitorium," "woofits," or "mungo." This has never fucking happened to me before. Christian Bale has managed to make "fuck" an inherently useless term for me. Wowzers.

2) He can manage a tirade like this AT WORK and still be called a "consummate professional" by his director. Holy woofits! Now that's a mother-mungo-ing job. Sign me up.

3) You know what's worth its weight in gold? The fact that this rocket ship of unending expletives was launched when someone WALKED INTO CHRISTIAN BALE'S PATH OF VISION. Seriously. He's like a superhero whose power is to become enraged at insignificant details. And that's a power I'd like to have. Like Crooked Painting Man or "Where's that goddamned humming coming from?!!" Man. Or Ricky Lake.

4) Is Christian Bale Welsh or American? Nobody knows. Even at the peak of his anger, the closest he comes to a Welsh accent is adding an -r to the end of "idea." You've got to have some true acting chops to not go out of character, especially when your head is about to explode from your level of anger. Or maybe you're just naturally insane. Either way, I likes it.

5) He hasn't apologized. The man hasn't apologized. The fact that he can take all this media shit and not end up blubbering like Michael Richards might make him the world's most perfect human being (if you ignore the trio of sixes tattooed in an otherworldy handwriting under his hairline).

6) Probably the most insane part of all of this is that all his shit about the guy interrupting the scene is taking place during the filming of Terminator IV. This is on the set of Terminator IV: Salvation. There is one living human being in the universe who gives more than half a shit about this movie, and his name is Christian "Consummate Professional" Bale. It takes real balls to like something so retarded if you're not it's mother.

7) He is also my hero because: apologies from the DP only result in more hilarious amounts of anger. It's like there's some kind of high-tech machine attached to Christian Bale's ears that turns every sound he hears into the sound of exactly the opposite thing happening. I wouldn't mind having one of those. It would make my love life more entertaining: "Yes, keep on doing that! That feels good! Yes! Continue having sex with me!"

8) Also, he's dreamy.

9) It is possible to hear the director and other crewmembers attempting to restrain Christian, who I can only guess is lunging forward to eat the DP's face, or perhaps cut it off and wear it for the remainder of the film.

10) Lastly, Christian Bale is my hero because he hates you as much as I do. And he can ejaculate in whatever colors he wants. But he chooses black.

So You Want To Have Sex With My Daughter

A MonologueSo you want to have sex with my daughter. No, no, don’t try to play dumb. I saw the way you looked at her over dinner. I saw that lustful expression on your face. Well, I can’t say I blame you--no no, don’t leave. Please, Gus, sit down. She’s a beautiful girl. Takes after her mother. But you should know there are other things she takes after her mother. Like “Rattles,” for example. That’s the family vibrator.

Oh, I’m quite serious, son. That vibrator has been in our family for five, maybe seven generations, starting in the late 1880s in Rhineland Germany. Legend goes that it was handcrafted by gypsies in possession of a magic crystal haunted by the ghost of Rasputin.

Who believes the legends, though?

After barely surviving Nazi occupation buried like an electric corn cob in my grandfather’s lower intestine, my great uncle was able to retrieve it with a pair of needle-nosed pliers and some spirit gum after the funeral. I remember that Sunday my grandmother gave it a quick rinse off and did a test run. By some miracle of God, that contraption still purred like a well-oiled Formula 1 engine. Maybe because of the haunted crystal, who knows!

What was that? No, you can’t leave. I’ve locked us in.

Now, by the time I came in possession of Rattles, I was undergoing some changes in my life, much like the very big changes you’re undergoing right now, young man. Those days everything excited me. Everything. It was a curse. I couldn’t stop experimenting…with Rattles…in the dead of night…as far off in the distance the howling of the wolves would throw my pubescent body into strange contortions of sexual yearning. If ever the crystal had any true potency in this world, it was then. If you believe the legends.

Needless to say, in the depths of my addiction, I still had the common sense to give away that cursed vibrator. As a wedding present, in fact.

To my wife.

And thus, Rattles passed from hand to hand, to hand, to hand, to hand, down to my daughter Clarissa. Who, if my intuition proves correct, has been making furious use of the instrument in the wee hours. She cleans it with Pepsodent.

So, I thought I’d just let you know. Not as a cautionary tale, Gus, but rather to keep you from ever thinking about ever, ever getting involved in any way whatsoever with any member of my family for any reason.

02 February 2009

CRAIGSLIST: Erotic Art Needed

Erotic Art Needed
Reply to: (see message body)
Date: 2009-02-01, 7:55PM

Debaucheri magazine publishes an Erotic Arts section in their magazine every issue. We choose 4 artists to feature in the magazine, one being the spotlight artist. If you are interested in being featured in the magazine send us your considered jpg of your piece along with a statement on art and eroticism. We will feature in the magazine your image and any contact info that you allow us to show. You retain all rights to your art, you are simply granting us permission to publish your image online and in print.
Please reply to: XXXXX

Hello Debaucheri,

My name is D. Brightmore, and I’m writing to offer one of my pieces for print. I’ve been a sex artist for seventeen years now, and my work ranges from live performance to private showings. I’ve worked with MoMA in the past, although my experiences with the company (I don’t use the term lightly) have led me down a more private path.

Sex art (as far as I know, it’s a term I coined in 1998) is the misuse of the sexual organs for artistic purposes. During my performances, I will either squeeze paint down my penis or abuse my penis with the tools of art—palette knives, brushes, sculpting materials, etc. During the performance that ended my professional relationship with MoMA, I squeezed black paint into my urethra, then urinated onto the canvas. Below is a statement about erotic art in general, although it includes a bit about the piece I’ve included, entitled “Twelve” (digital print).

D. Brightmore

Erotic art is often dismissed as mere burlesque or, at worst, pornography. It is. But let us forget for a moment that pornography, burlesque, Futurism and politics are separate terms. After all, this is no time for terms. This is a time for redefinition. For the moment, consider this: What is art?

Art is, quite simply, a means by which one individual attempts to impress another individual. The world of sexual desire and fulfillment exists primarily because of this urge, and is the result of it rather than its cause. In the most perfect couplings, our own sexual fulfillment is a meager ornament in relation to our desire to fulfill another being. Erotic art merely expresses the capacity of impression upon its audience. A drawing of people fucking is not a drawing of people fucking. It impresses upon us the idea that impression is endless, cyclical, and finally invisible.

Let us now consider sex. What is sex? Sex is an artistic act that ends in the orgasm, the ejaculation, the toe-curling inability to express anything—or everything. Art is only possible in sex when sex defies expression. When it merely impresses. But this is impossible. The only orgasm is the orgasm of art.

This digital print, entitled “Twelve,” borrows from Net.Art, Post-Impressionism and my own obsession with manual and oral sex to re-evaluate the failures of our artistic generation. It is a failure of Photoshop aesthetes and bukkake barons—but in this failure, I find art manifested. By correcting their unheralded position as the unwise targets of high art’s upturned nose, I am attempting to reclaim, in whatever way I can, the holy and righteous position of my own true Trinity—the cock and balls.