Again, Mr O has graced us with WORDS! This time, he has deconstructed THREE of my recent drawerings... (I know what I wrote. Don't you remember Simon? If you don't know Simon, watch THIS...and THIS... Sorry! Long aside this time!)
Let's get to some COLLABORATION PIECES!
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"Guilt Trip" (Words by Richard O'Brien. Image by me.)
Cloud, Snake, and Bertha, an odd-looking bunch,
discussed vacation plans over an odd-looking lunch.
They decided to travel, but to where they didn’t know;
they needed a McGuffin, a silly reason to go.
“The rainforest,” Cloud said, “we can visit my cousin.”
“Trump Hotel,” Snake said, “there are ratsss by the dozen.”
“The middle of nowhere,” Bertha said, “so we can see the north star.”
They then decided just to travel and just see where they are.
Along the road, they floated, slithered, and walked.
Some days they traveled fast – some days they balked.
But a special event was about to appear,
when a greeting card suddenly came near.
The card displayed a heart and had bounce in his pace,
but his subtextual balloon had a sinister face.
“Please ssstep aside,” Snake said, “Please give usss room.”
But the card blocked them and said, “I am the Hallmark harbinger of doom!”
He continued, “I will give you no mercy when I give you tidings of good will,
that will result in guilt that makes the recipient feel quite ill!”
Cloud, Snake, and Bertha watched as Card went on,
“Generic greetings for holidays to which you are too late to respond!”
But then the travelling group presented their own note:
“To Card: thank you for all the messages you tote.”
Card had no return card, his evil plan went awry, so he decided to stop making people feel horrible because they forgot someone’s birthday even though the other person didn’t forget theirs and joined the group on their journey and his McGuffin was to get some Shakey’s pizza in Renton because it was the closest one but the pizza is so good. From that day forward, nobody was ever able to receive holiday and birthday cards so everyone assumed no one else cared, but the feeling was totally mutual so it was all good.
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"Bunny and Cy" (Words by Mr. O. Image by a broken electric toothbrush.)
Bunny and Cy made their bond way back,
when Cy used his vision to save Bunny from attack.
A fox crept close, but Cy’s 20-10 vision was clear,
and warned Bunny of danger, his death experience quite near.
The two soon realized there was something else that they shared:
the need to find criminals wherever they crimed – to dare go where thugs dared.
His friend had no legs, so Cy Bunny toted,
(I think that the stamina of bunnies is fairly well-noted).
Cy could see crime short into the future,
so they travelled to sate the passion that they both nurtured.
The first scene was Dick’s Bank, shortly before a violent robbery,
Bunny and The Cy found their spot nearby in a ripened plum tree.
Cy began to enjoy the delectable fruits,
and Bunny said, “Give me the popcorn before somebody shoots!”
You see, Bunny and Cy didn’t fight crime – they thought that a bore;
they were crime - sighters, watching humans at war.
The next scene was a desert where drug cartels trade.
Apparently, Vasquez felt shorted and there were threats Phillips made.
Bunny and Cy watched the development with delight:
after the bloodshed, they felt like they’d seen a double feature that night.
But then came a day when Bunny and Cy’s consciences weighed heavy,
as they watched a psychopath buy a loose nuke, near a Ukrainian levy,
The man killed the nuke’s sellers and now great harm he could bring.
Bunny said to Cy, “This was all fun and games, but now we must do the right thing.”
Bunny and Cy went over and confronted the man,
as the wide-eyed psycho had an end of the nuke’s crate in his hand.
Bunny said, “We were going to watch you snatch this nuke, but that’s not who we are…
This thing must weigh a ton! Let us help you carry it to your car!”
Bunny and The Cy felt proud – there was no doubt,
because they helped someone in need – and that is what it’s all about.
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"Marcus Likes Cake" (Words by Misty Oh. Image by Holly Fuel.)
On his tenth birthday, all Marcus’ elders arrived,
five generations of men - to watch Marcus be deprived.
Because it was a family tradition, for their ancestors’ sake,
that on one’s tenth birthday - one threw his cake in the lake.
The boy looked somber, to say the least,
and he told his elders, “Today I want to eat it with you – let’s have a cake feast.”
The elders looked shocked, and his father spoke of family sedition:
“Just for some cake you would give up tradition?”
But then his father said, “I actually understand. It is freshly baked.
When I turned ten, I had to throw my cake in the lake AND step on a rake.”
His grandfather chimed in, “Well, I think this is a mistake.
When I turned ten, I threw my cake in the lake, stepped on a rake, AND had to kiss a venomous snake.”
His great grandfather said, “You whiners – for god’s sake,
I threw my cake in the lake, stepped on a rake, kissed a venomous snake, AND ate a raw ‘possum steak.”
In the back of the group, his great, great grandfather laughed and did rise:
“Don’t get mad at the boy because he opened his eyes.
I started that nonsense to test you all –
and it only took four generations of morons for dumb traditions to fall.”
They all then had cake, served on a dish,
and asked the young Marcus about his big, birthday wish.
He said, “To have a son named Marcus, and give him the tenth birthday sermon:
That it is family tradition to swim a croc-infested moat, climb Everest without a coat, carry a wolverine in
a tote, milk a billy goat, and various other things yet to be determined.”
Epilogue: The cake had no sugar. In fact, Marcus’s great, great grandmother didn’t even use proper flour – she used an old bag that rats had gotten into because she figured it was just going in the lake anyway. As a result, the cake had a generous portion of anthrax (not the band) and the great, great grandmother figured, oh well, it was keeping in the family tradition of women trying to stop the family’s men from passing down their idiotic genes.
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I love these story-poems. When I'm drawing, I'm not usually concerned with narrative, as my visual artz are more subconsciously derived. (Some might call it automatic drawing, but they would be silly.) However, for the last TEN or TWELVE years, Mr. O'Brien has been "interpreting" my images---and filtering them through his unique, pop-culture-meets-high-philosophy-at-a-Booty-Bounce-luau-with-Doctor-Seuss-judging-the-costume-contest brain! The results are ALWAYS bizarre and entertaining, but deeper than you might suspect...especially if you looked at the drawings first!
The point of that rambling paragraph up there? We're having FUN! Fun, by all that is unholy! (It isn't COMPLETELY illegal, yet! Do it while you still can!!!) Gather ye rosebuds, homies...
---Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)
[P.S. - Mr. O's words were used with permission. All except two. You'll have to guess which two I used without asking him first.]