Humour. Pretty subjective aye?
I learnt this the hard way; at the place where all great stories start; Bargain Barn!
For all of you poor, sad people who don’t know, Bargain Barn (now called something lame with “re” in the title but alliteration is awesome so renaming will remain unremembered) is a warehousey-type building in the industrial cervix of Central Dunedin where you can buy ANYTHING!
So long as “anything” is at least 4th hand, smells a little like old man trousers in a housing unit in Porirua, and costs 50 cents.
I had a couple of hours to kill, (lies, I had homework, but you can’t do homework when you’re drunk and op-shopping! Logic!) so I headed off for a pint and a browse and OH MY FUCK I’m glad I did because I stumbled upon the most epic extreme genre of ridiculously cheap and useless shit ever! Posters!!
Now, one may ask, why would you pay for a poster when they are free for the taking at any major wall near you? Because; (a) last time I tried to use a craft knife when drunk I sliced off a small piece of finger and didn’t notice for several hours and bled on the floor of The Cook and it was unhygienic and, (b) they have CAT POSTERS!!!
The thing about cat posters is; they are awesome.
Do I like cats? Hmmm. Marginally. I will definitely pat a cat if it looks clean and requires no more than four steps of standard deviation from my intended path, but I do not like cats who put fur on me. Or look at me with judging eyes. Or spurn me when I attempt to befriend them when I am feeling friendless. But cat posters suffer from none of these disadvantages; they are not hairy, they do not ever walk away from you, and in the one I ended up buying, the featured cats are playing... with books! Like lol! It’s totally situationally ironic because, wait for it, cats don’t read!
On a marginally (so marginal) more academic note, I also bought a poster of historical good bitch Persephone eating a pomegranate. And here the worry began.
Now Persephone, as we all know, was just a wee occidental wannabe chilling in the perpetual cornfields and trickling brooks (and other vaguely positive agricultural things, possibly not so much cornfields in central Europe before 1500AD but hey! Let’s keep this imprecise) of a happy pre-ice age summer. Then she ate an antioxidant rich plant ovary (actually half, but not gonna hold that against her, they are really quite tricky to eat tidily and in my head she suffered mild ADHD and was unable to get through entire pieces of fruit in one sitting without being distracted by sexy young hoplites or Pheidippides back from a training jog to Turkey or whatever) and got sent to hell.
Happy ending (sort of) she got saved and only had to spend a couple months down there per year and so winter happened blah blah BUT THIS IS IRRELEVANT the point I am trying to make is that I bought a poster of superbabe Persephone, tagged it meme-styles with “EAT FRUIT... GO TO HELL” and hung it in the human nutrition office.
Nobody got it.
I got multiple compliments on the cats (possibly sarcasm implicit), a few about my hipster potplant cartoon but evidently NOBODY thinks classics/nutrition humour is as awesome a trend as I do.
Which brings me back to the subjectivity of humour.
Verdict; very.
Also the women at bargain barn barter. This is alliteration AND true and means I got 7 posters which included 2x cats, 1x emo asian eating candy, 1x marine life, 2x jebus, 1x pomegranate, a boot bag for boots, a straw hat, a fork, a plaid shirt, an un-plaid shirt, a belt and something else which has fallen through a hole in my memory.
Also maybe she ate a persimmon. Fuck. I don’t even think I’ve even seen a persimmon before.
Right! Now I will write my research proposal.
Ruby.
I learnt this the hard way; at the place where all great stories start; Bargain Barn!
For all of you poor, sad people who don’t know, Bargain Barn (now called something lame with “re” in the title but alliteration is awesome so renaming will remain unremembered) is a warehousey-type building in the industrial cervix of Central Dunedin where you can buy ANYTHING!
So long as “anything” is at least 4th hand, smells a little like old man trousers in a housing unit in Porirua, and costs 50 cents.
I had a couple of hours to kill, (lies, I had homework, but you can’t do homework when you’re drunk and op-shopping! Logic!) so I headed off for a pint and a browse and OH MY FUCK I’m glad I did because I stumbled upon the most epic extreme genre of ridiculously cheap and useless shit ever! Posters!!
Now, one may ask, why would you pay for a poster when they are free for the taking at any major wall near you? Because; (a) last time I tried to use a craft knife when drunk I sliced off a small piece of finger and didn’t notice for several hours and bled on the floor of The Cook and it was unhygienic and, (b) they have CAT POSTERS!!!
The thing about cat posters is; they are awesome.
Do I like cats? Hmmm. Marginally. I will definitely pat a cat if it looks clean and requires no more than four steps of standard deviation from my intended path, but I do not like cats who put fur on me. Or look at me with judging eyes. Or spurn me when I attempt to befriend them when I am feeling friendless. But cat posters suffer from none of these disadvantages; they are not hairy, they do not ever walk away from you, and in the one I ended up buying, the featured cats are playing... with books! Like lol! It’s totally situationally ironic because, wait for it, cats don’t read!
On a marginally (so marginal) more academic note, I also bought a poster of historical good bitch Persephone eating a pomegranate. And here the worry began.
Happy ending (sort of) she got saved and only had to spend a couple months down there per year and so winter happened blah blah BUT THIS IS IRRELEVANT the point I am trying to make is that I bought a poster of superbabe Persephone, tagged it meme-styles with “EAT FRUIT... GO TO HELL” and hung it in the human nutrition office.
Nobody got it.
I got multiple compliments on the cats (possibly sarcasm implicit), a few about my hipster potplant cartoon but evidently NOBODY thinks classics/nutrition humour is as awesome a trend as I do.
Which brings me back to the subjectivity of humour.
Verdict; very.
Also the women at bargain barn barter. This is alliteration AND true and means I got 7 posters which included 2x cats, 1x emo asian eating candy, 1x marine life, 2x jebus, 1x pomegranate, a boot bag for boots, a straw hat, a fork, a plaid shirt, an un-plaid shirt, a belt and something else which has fallen through a hole in my memory.
Also maybe she ate a persimmon. Fuck. I don’t even think I’ve even seen a persimmon before.
Right! Now I will write my research proposal.
Ruby.
Oh my god! The other day I stumbled upon a book called 'Cats that paint'. It had many cats and they painted and their owners were really proud and were like "Yes, our Mr Tibbles was really interested in Monet in his youth so we actually took him to the Louvre a few years ago and he has just grown so much as artist since then. We are just so proud of our little baby". Needless to say, I was filled with joy.
ReplyDeleteDear anonymous; if you were a cat, what would you paint? I feel that Monet may be marginally out of the reach of most cats, potentially felines (and indeed other less-opposably digited mammals) should attempt a more postmodern approach to visual expressionism? Maybe the influx of cats into the art market has subtlely affected the economics of art and thus contributed to the demise of a more classical form?
ReplyDelete