This piece is inspired by the wondrous art of Luis Quiles. Click any image to view more of his work.
Suggested Audio Jukebox:
 System Of A Down “Toxicity”
 Beastie Boys “Shake Your Rump”
 Skee-Lo “The Burger Song”
 ABBA “Money Money Money”
 Nirvana “Heart Shaped Box”
 Lynyrd Skynrd “Freebird”
Caught red handed Mickey. Don’t even think of pleading innocence either as your ears give you away. Perhaps if you had taken Goofy’s advice and had them pinned back, you wouldn’t currently be looking at a sexual harrasment charge. But shadows don’t lie and, while the young lady you just groped kind of had it coming, I’d say you picked the wrong Mousekatool for the occasion. Who would have thought that such a cherished public figure was nothing more than a philanderer all this time? Thanks to the art of a certain gentleman by the name of Luis Quiles, I now know precisely what happens at the clubhouse after dark. If you ask me, somebody really oughta inform Minnie as she’s the innocent party here. While she’s at home, preparing her significant other mac and cheese, he’s out there serial groping, and abusing his position as icon. “Come inside, there’s fun inside” now has a far more ominous ring to it. Some folk you expect it from but not Mickey Mouse. Take that V fella for example, I fully expected him to be a wrong ‘un, thus the following image didn’t surprise me in the slightest.
That’s what you get for not doing your homework young lady. Unfortunately, it appears that this vendetta is already well underway, given her glowing buttocks. However, the houses of parliament aren’t burning themselves down, and it seems that prioritizing his time is a concern for this particular masked marauder. You see, they’re all at it. Even Marty McFly can’t seem to keep it in his pants and you don’t need a fully tanked DeLorean to know that he mistook Doc’s plea to fuel up the Flux Capacitor. I won’t even point out that the woman he’s about to defile is no other than his own freaking mother. Here, I shall let you make your own minds up. Is this just a new way to retrieve any dirty linen or is mom about to take one in the Biff? You decide.
I know right? Is the world going mad? Heaven knows what Teen Wolf is getting up to right now. With Mickey Mouse, V, and Marty McFly clearly in need of a time out, I’m fast running out of childhood heroes to adulate. Thanks to Luis Quiles, I’m in total disarray, and in desperate need of a new champion to endorse. Perhaps Kim Kardashian can restore my faith in humanity. Let’s see what she’s getting up to right now shall we?
It appears not. Dang to the power of two, he gets around. It may look sweet and innocent but Kim seems to have taken the song Wrecking Ball a little too literally. What we can’t see is that poor Kayne West chap out of shot, tied to the headboard wearing only his left sock and about to be soundly pummelled for failing to wash the dishes three nights on the bounce. It seems a little excessive if you ask me, after all, she only has to sit on the poor guy’s face to cut off the circulation to his brain. From what I’ve heard on the grapevine, her ass is gearing up to get its own daytime chat show. I wonder what kind of poos drop out of that thing. You can’t blame Kayne for being a tad slack on crockery duties as he spent all morning upstairs sinking one of her battleships. Never mind, there are always men in suits to fall back on. Dressing well suggests dignified behavior right?
I urge you not to jump to conclusions as that dubious shadow is, in fact, merely an optical illusion. I happen to think it is dreadfully kind of him to offer those six poor naked ladies a bite of his Butterfinger. Granted, they’ll be required to floss any honeycomb out of their teeth, but at least they’ll have eaten well.
If the word on the street is correct, some rogue has been dishing out the double cheeseburgers with relish. Having watched both Super Size Me and Fast Food Nation, I’m fully aware of the nutritional value of such trash food. One second on the lips equates to a lifetime on the lavatory and that’s just even more shit for poor Kayne to clear up.
I pray for the girl, really I do. Not that worshipping a deity is likely to help right now as he’s too busy covering up a scandal. That’s right, this shit leads straight to the top and that confessional booth is no longer quite the safe haven it once was. Don’t take my word for it, ask Luis, his roving lens doesn’t lie after all.
Whatever happened to ten Hail Marys? This is getting frightfully out-of-hand if you ask me and I’m not sure how many more shocks my ticker can take for one day. With religion seemingly a no-no, I need something else to believe in and fast. Perhaps the almighty buck can assist in raising my flagging spirits. Many believe that money makes the world go round and it is admittedly something of a commodity. Surely a little back-hander is in order here. Something sweet to gloss over any scandal. May I suggest a bank transfer or monthly standing order?
Cash payment huh? This is all well and good but does she not possess a purse? Is there really any call for cramming that bundle of bills into her oral receptacle? And who is the guy on mouth duties? Do priests have deputies? I’m terribly befuddled right now and there is only one thing to do when discombobulation rears its well scratched head – drop a whole bundle of prescription drugs and hope that the numbness compensates for so many broken dreams. The problem is, if Quiles is to be believed, some heartless wench has already been raiding the medicine cabinet.
Why I oughta! When did it become acceptable practise hogging the meds? Now I’m riled too and the best thing for all involved would be a spot of capital punishment I feel. Those tight stonewashed denims will have to come off and you’ll be pleased to know that I bathed in advance of the following penance. That said, I’m even more confused now. You see, I can’t find my rubber ducky for the life of me, and I rifled through every last bubble to track this mallard down. If you see him, do like Pantomime, and alert me to his presence as it will save on one helluva migraine and I fucking love that duck. Anyhoots, time to get those jeans off young lady. You’ll thank me when it’s over with.
Frisky little Fräulein appears to be loving it. And what’s that infernal quacking? I’m all sixes and sevens right now and think a genetalia check is in order to smooth things over. I’ve had a peek into my own briefs and there’s nothing untoward down there by the look of it. Friendly old Mr. Penis always has a smile for every occasion, even if he does tend to stare with that one eye of his.
I’m guessing that vaginas won’t be any more complex, from what I’m told, they are very much like cat’s cradles and easier to suss out that origami. Just a quick reconnaisence check and we’ll be back on easy street in no time. Tell you what, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Very quaint. Apologies as I didn’t hear what you were saying young lady; was too busy likening your equipment to the toe of a camel. I knew there was a reason why they hadn’t gone extinct yet. Turns out they’re subcontracting their hooves and likely living off the royalties while llamas worldwide head for the chopping block.
Dare I say that it has given me the steaming hump? Oopsie. I just did. With that Quiles fellow waiting in the wings, and building up quite a friends list as we speak, it won’t be long before the whole thing goes viral.
You see? Always one step ahead that one and I just pray he has a sketchy wi-fi signal as this needn’t get out-of-hand. If you ask me, Twitter is to blame. That blue bird may come across as jovial enough but I’ve heard about his wingspan and, sooner or later, he has to roost right? A nice little nest would suffice, underneath a cherry blossom tree. How delightful. Fly my pretty fly and we’ll follow you from our birdseye vantage. Don’t go bullying those worms you hear?
Fiddlesticks. I’m not retweeting that one. Maybe a favorite but some things have no right being pinned to our profiles. And to think that the bird is supposed to be the word, how absurd. It’s a common misconception that being shat on from the skies brings good luck, but I beg to differ. A little harmless pigeon feces on the blazer collar is one thing but deep throated bird seed is no laughing matter. Actually, that just reminded me of the first time I ever smoked a joint. I was twelve and as clueless as any young whippersnapper on the cusp of adolescence.
One of my associates managed to procure us a doob to smoke communally and it was far too enticing a proposition to pass up so he rolled it (using adhesive to secure the papers I might add) and an intimate group of us headed off to the school gates to get high on his fresh supply. I was all set for the POW! moment but, when it came, it wasn’t at all what I had been expecting.
Turns out that the hash in question was none other than bird seed and it didn’t agree with me one iota. Projectile vomit swiftly followed, then muffled laughter from my comrades, and the next three hours were spent in fetal position. However, when I returned to the scene of the crime at a later date, I was horrified (and secretly a little swollen with pride) to be made privy to my puke blast radius. That pavement slab was blackened for years afterwards and we’re talking a similar coloration and density to a baby’s very first diaper decoration.
I would have forgotten all about the whole sorry affair had it not been for Luis Quiles jogging my memory. You see, he ain’t such a bad guy after all. That reminds me, I’m forty minutes late on my feed. Without the necessary lactose, I may just wither away. Turn your back please as this may need to be censored. Tell you what Luis, I’ll let you decide.