Vague Insanty 027

It's not like dreams are really SUPPOSED to come true. I mean, sometimes they do, and I guess that works out as long as it was a nice dream and involved ice cream, and fluffy bunnies, and intense, screaming, wall-banging fornication. But when it's a dream about gigantic, cyborg killing machines named Stevie -- those are the dreams that I think are likely to come true, especially if you live in a very bad 70s sci-fi novel. I think the problem with creativity is that you have to be creative.

If you could be like totally lazy, and somehow develop that laziness into artistic genius - then that would be interesting.

I'd love to sit on a couch, eating potato chips, lounging about in the middle of the Tate Gallery of Modern Art. And then people would come along to see my radical new masterpiece - Fat guy lounging around eating potato chips and watching a vast, untidy collection of DVDs.

And I think that I would get rave reviews and lots of fame, but really, it would suck - because I wouldn't get a lot of money and I would get absolutely no sex out of it as the Tate Gallery of Modern Art probably wouldn't let me have groupie sex in an exhibit AND if I left the couch, I wouldn't be considered art anymore. It's kind of a catch-22.

Becoming art won't help me get money and sex -- so looks like I'll have to do something else. Maybe I will become a second rate cowboy television series.