Saturday, November 21, 2009


Even though I love my job I have no illusions about it and make no excuses for its shortcomings. Like the mother with the morbidly obese child she regretfully checks into fat camp, I struggle with this profession.  

See, I work in an industry that caters to pubescent boys who equate masturbating to barely-soft porn or mind f****ing their Nintendo Wiis to a productive day. This industry’s dick gets wet every time a fourteen year old turns fifteen because of the numbers this age bracket brings in. Inevitably, art becomes the drugged out whore who breaks the awkward kid’s virginity for $11.50.

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