I Can’t Afford Talent; I’ll Just Spray Stuff on Walls
I think I’m picking up your subtle message: you have a tiny penis.
There’s little else that could explain your behavior, Mr. Bosch, or Ack, or whichever graffiti tag you’re ejaculating everywhere these days. I can’t walk more than a few steps without your “artwork” assaulting my field of vision. You probably think you’re being creative, or manly, or just plain expressive, but what you’re actually being is idiotic, not to mention blatantly compensating for a certain shortcoming. It’s a good thing you can only afford spray paint, or we might have to deal with yet another muscle car on the roads, driven by yet another tiny penis.
For a while I thought you focused more or less on this neighborhood, making regular aesthetic adjustments to the walls, electrical cabinets and other random flat surfaces of the vicinity. Surely this person must have a life, I reasoned, and does not spend every night marking his territory in the manner of a marginally talented whelp, only with a substance even more noxious than dog urine. But no: a foray this Saturday into other sections of town provided evidence that you do not restrict your unwanted attentions to our area, but slather your moniker and incomprehensible logo wherever vertical surfaces may reside: second-floor balconies; bus stop shelters; park benches; sides of buildings; doors. Yes, doors to private residences, whose only offense was being installed where you could reach them, with your can of paint and your tiny penis.
Perhaps you think I am taking too critical a tone, not showing enough empathy for the poor soul who feels compelled to create art but cannot find acceptable outlets for his vision. Perhaps you have been huffing too much paint: we humans have this principle called respect for others and, by extension, for the objects associated with those others. Since I assume your parents were also human, you were probably exposed to this notion at some point during your development. That you disregard it now by defacing the neighborhood only demonstrates that something more powerful is at play here: your really tiny penis.
I looked for a positive angle, a possible silver lining to your message, but gave up when you misspelled “F**k the galleries” by leaving out one of the L’s in “galleries” all over the side of the theater. You had to climb up a sign post to do that, which meant that the poor theater employee assigned the job of cleaning up after you had to do that also, and risk a fall just to erase your goddamn mistake. If you were normally endowed, you wouldn’t feel compelled to act so selfishly, but I cannot find anything positive about inconsiderate behavior so perfectly consistent with a tiny penis.
What happens now? Will you mature? Get arrested and removed from the streets? Get caught vandalizing the wrong surface and find yourself bludgeoned to unconsciousness with your own can of paint? Here’s some advice: make your groin an easy target, so they’ll be more likely to miss.