You think people would be fighting over food, shelter, and other necessities. Instead a good majority are hoarding toilet paper.
America – the country of assholes.
Hey. I don’t want to catch COVID-19 either. Otherwise known as my friend says, CRAPVID-19. After what I’ve seen the past few weeks, I have no problem going into isolation. I’m quite looking forward to it.
We’ll get through this pandemic. It’s not the virus I’m worried about.
It’s the ignorance, arrogance, and stupidity of the human race that will do us in.
Introducing the Psycho Bunny sketch of the week for March 23, 2020.
Social Media. Cause we all know we don’t have s*** to do! You can check these out during your quarantine:
Want to buy some of my designs? There’s RedBubble: Witchipoo
Finally, don’t forget to purchase my Squeaky comic. $4.00. Venmo: @Witchipoo.
Also. I’m available for commissions. Comics and greetings are available for purchase. No shame in this plug. Especially with the financial impact. Questions? Hit me up: Witchipoo@witchesbrewpress.net. You can also contact me via Instagram, @WitchipooArt
One final plug. I’ve set up a Patreon account (which no-one contributed to yet, but hey). Haven’t really promoted the site until today. Oh, and this will be my third Inktober sketch for this month. Till next time…
Sometimes no matter where you go, there it is. Drama. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, it’s there. In the home, in the street, on the subway…even on good old Facebook.
Don’t even get me started on Facebook.
Anyway, everyone’s favorite angry drunk rabbit Psycho Bunny has his own thoughts about drama. Especially when using NYC’s MTA system. No wonder he drinks.
Introducing, the Psycho Bunny pic of the week.
Here comes the usual plugs. Psycho Bunny has his own page on Facebook, and so far that’s drama free. My separate illustration work has its own Facebook page as well, WitchesBrewPress. Click ‘like’ on both pages, and then order from my website so you can order Psycho Bunny comics, and other titles.
The first time I ever visited the infamous Mars Bar, it was sometime during the ’90s. It was your typical run-down dive bar. It also had the only bathroom I was hesitant to use – and in the Lower East Side area of NYC, that’s saying a lot.
I went back a few more times, but I wouldn’t say I was a regular. Back then, my hang outs of choice was Max Fish (original location), Coney Island High and Mother’s. Later on, I would visit The Raven Cafe and this small gay bar across the street from Raven called The Cock. In the late ’90s, The Cock would have this outrageous party ever Saturday night titled ‘What Would You Do For $100?’ Trust me, at that particular party, I’ve seen what people would do for $100, but that’s for another blog post.
Before Mars Bar closed down for good, it’s glory days were pretty much over. Last time I was there, must’ve been sometime in 2008 or 2009. There was barely anyone inside. In 2012, its doors shuttered. Now some overpriced bourgeois restaurant stands in its place. Like New York City needs another un-affordable eatery.
So fast forward to 2015. My friend who was a Mars bar regular informed me about an open call for art at the Whitebox Gallery. Quickly I grabbed some of my framed work to hang at the group show.
There was two parties at Whitebox. One was the installation party, in which mayhem was already in full bloom when I arrived. Free beer was flowing and music was blasting as the Mars bar reunion ensued. It wasn’t long when half-filled beer cans was being thrown at some of other attendants.
As for the exhibit itself. The opening party was called ‘Last Night At Mars Bar.’ It was part of a bigger exhibit called ‘The Last Party.’ The Last Party was curated by Anthony Haden-Guest and highlights NYC nightlife from 1975 to the early 90s. Anthony Haden-Guest is a writer/cartoonist/art critic and has documented NYC underground downtown culture at its zenith. I was personally lucky to have gone to such places like Limelight, Tunnel, The World, and Danceteria. Especially when I was under-aged during the Danceteria days. Dancerteria was one of the first places I ever clubbed at, back when I was in high school. (I also went to Studio 54 when I was in junior high back in the early ’80s, and yes, that’s also another story within itself. I couldn’t, however get into Boy George’s birthday party over at Palladium, because I was under-aged. I did sneak into Palladium a year and half later, for another party. Once again, another story.)
Anyway, back to Mars Bar. You see, Whitebox is a non-profit gallery which focuses on ‘culturally relevant work.’ Yes, that dive bar has become ‘culturally relevant.’ Before the ‘Last Night At Mars Bar’ event, I visited Whitebox once before. It was a part of some Lower East Side art crawl festival. What was the theme – pizza? I can’t remember. Just a lot of free beer, and the night’s curator getting really upset when elderly old Chinese ladies dropped by to collect the discarded beer cans for recycling money. The female curator tried to shoo the ladies out, but since the ladies probably didn’t know any English, the curator was simply ignored. While the well dressed curator had this sour expression upon her expensively made-up face, someone in the crowd commented ‘Welcome to the real New York, lady.” The curator was not amused.
Whoever put this latest show together didn’t seem that bothered by the old Mars bar crew. In fact, the security guard was actually pretty chill. Meanwhile, the Mars Bars reunion was in full effect. East Village nostalgia.
The next night was the opening party. It pretty much picked up where the installation party left off. The show was the opening party was ‘Last Night At Mars Bar Variety Shit Show’ hosted by Johnny Bizzare. A band called The Sunnyside Social Club performed as well.
At the end of the opening party, a tad bit of sadness came over me. New York City has changed. Although there is less crime than back in the ’70s and ’80s, it’s organic creative chaos is gone. There’s still bits and pieces here and there but it’s more hipster contrived now. Nice, and safe, and guaranteed not to offend in the age of political correctness. Completely bland.
Hopefully this current state of NYC with its overpriced rents is a temporary thing.
I watched the rest of the crowd sing merrily in the street, then head over to some watering hole nearby, in true Mars bar fashion. Since there were responsibilities to take care of the next day, this was my cue to head home. If you want to see the exhibit yourself, and you just happen to be in the NYC area, you have up until Aug. 23rd. At least I could now say I had my work shown in the infamous L.E.S.
So today, I get a notice from WordPress in the upper right corner of the laptop screen, and it’s telling me it’s been six years since I started this blog. Six years. Wow. I remember leaving NYC in 2005 for what turned out to be the biggest mistake in my life. So when I moved back to NYC at the end of 2007, it started a completely brand new chapter in my life.
Also, I was lucky to move back to NYC at the end of 2007, for I got to see NYC before all the sterilization and gentrification began to take full effect. It was like being given a chance to say goodbye to many things familiar to me since my childhood and teen years.
I don’t think NYC is as spontaneous as it was six or seven years ago. Fifteen, or even ten years ago, you could step outside your door, and there would be something to do. Now everything is just too overpriced as it crawls full of hipsters, Wall Street yuppies, or just plain smucks. Don’t get me wrong. New York City is my hometown. I was born in The Bronx, raised in Queens, and attended high school in Manhattan. I’m not some transplant living off a trust fund. I’m someone whose roots are deep inside the Big Apple. Despite all my bickering, I still love New York. NYC landlords are shifty, the subways never run properly, the buses feels like cattle transport, cyclists on those Shittybikes, aka Citibikes are always trying to run you over, finding work sucks, it’s hard to find a decent relationship of any nature in this town, and sometimes people are just plain jerks. A lot of my friends have moved out of NYC, and many others constantly talk about moving out. Guess what – I don’t care what others say. I love New York City, warts and all. It’s MY town. Even if it seems as if it’s been overrun with arrogant transients with a sense of entitlement.
Don’t get me wrong. If I had an opportunity to live in Europe, I just might take that chance. In a way, I wouldn’t mind living outside of NYC, even if it was in another state, or just outside of NYC. For now, NYC is my home until further notice.
Why am I even bringing this all up?
There’s a few reasons. (One being at the time of this particular post, Mercury is in retrograde, a time to look back) I was talking about going to LIT Lounge the other day with a friend. There was a Post Punk/Goth party happening. Suddenly I remembered the time in December 2008, when me and a few friends went to another party at LIT. After the hell I endured during 2006 and 2007, 2008 was a banner year. A fun, exciting time, and got my first chance to get my artwork published by others, besides myself. Also had my work exhibited that year for a one night art show. Goals were accomplished.
I had copies of my own self published comic with me, which at the time, was Psycho Bunny issue three. One of my best friends came up with the brilliant idea of having club goers pose with the comic. So off he went on his ‘secret’ mission.
Thus began his ‘undercover’ assignment to expose Psycho Bunny to the world…or at least to those at the party.
Taking one final swig of the brew, the agent located his first target:
It didn’t take long before the unsuspecting targets were willing to take a pose:
Mission completed. Not content with spreading the word at LIT Lounge, we headed over to Double Down on Avenue A, to infiltrate some more.
The mission was successful, and wrapped it up with a Brooklyn Beer.
*These photos were originally posted on MySpace back in 2008/2009.
So the other day I read this online article. It went like this; some married actor who knows all about the almighty power of Christ made unwanted advances to some model who knew the power of the almighty internet.
I’m talking about the exchange between devout Christian actor Brian Presley, and model Melissa Stetten. Supposedly although Presley was married with child, he put the moves onto Stetten. A bad move indeed. She went on Twitter and posted the entire conversation. Her 13,000 Twitter followers read every word. Here’s the link to the article, in case you have no clue what I’m talking about: http://www.happyplace.com/16363/melissa-stetten-uses-twitter-to-humiliate-attempted-adulterer
Which I can’t help but wonder…aren’t you supposed to turn off your cellphone during inflight? And if she was able to get internet service while inflight, well then dude, what cellphone company is she using?
Anyway. First impulse after reading this article, you mutter to yourself “busted” and laugh. Perhaps you might post a link to the article you’ve read onto Facebook. Which is what I did. On the surface, as my friend puts it; “So ‘self-important douchebag’ meets a ‘big deal on the internet’ and a fight breaks out on the short bus.”
Yeah, pretty much.
Sigh…relationships. As the character Randal in the 1996 film ‘Clerks’ says: “I find it best to stay out of other people’s affairs.” It’s really no-one’s business speculating about other people’s relationships. Married, not married, separated, divorced, stable, ‘it’s complicated’, monogamous, open… who really cares? Is it really anyone’s business? Can we really pass judgment and speculate upon others? In reality, the answer is no.
Don’t get me wrong though. Do I have any sympathy for Presley, who fell off his Jesus juice wagon? Oh hell no. One of my pet peeves is hypocritical so-called religious folks. Like when Foetus once sang, “A Good Christian Is a Dead Christian.” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Dog4Rv0IhI) If this story is indeed correct, well then the douche had it coming. The ‘self-important’ thespian was on center stage. Relationships are one thing, but using religion as a crutch, and then being an outright hypocrite is ten times worse in my opinion. And I don’t mean second coming. Unless he’s had his third, or fourth… oh! Bad joke drum roll please. Bah-da-dum!
All bad puns aside, you also have to consider this. Through this model’s Twitter account, we only know one side of the story. Hers. In reality, there are actually three sides. Her side, his side, and what really went down. In the day of digital gossip and hearsay, there’s a fine line between mocking someone and outright slander.
And let’s be real here. Not all women are victims. In reality, many women can be outright vicious and cruel. Melissa certainly isn’t a victim. Just like the majority of men can be assholes, the majority of women can be bitches. It’s the truth. (Is the author of this blog post, Michele, not a ‘people person?’ Why goodness gracious, you’ve noticed!) Also, one can’t help but wonder that if Melissa the model went a little too far with her tweets. Let’s say the model is the narcissistic bully here. She exaggerated this situation, and slandered for comedic effect, power, and media attention all for herself. Publicity at any cost. This is the same model who only a few months ago, claimed to have won some million dollar jackpot as a hoax, and then posted the prank online for all the world to see.
I knew women like this. Oh yeah, and men do this too. They love to slander, exaggerate, and collect blackmail. When the time is right, or when you’ve caught on to their crappy little game, they gather the evidence. As they collect all the dirt, they twist your words into something ugly, taking what you’ve said completely out of context. They’ll even sometimes outright lie, and then afterwards stab you in the back. When the knife is plunged, they’ll sprinkle a little touch of some spicy slander. In the game of life, this happens every day.
Yet on the internet everyone and their mother has an opinion. Just like everyone has a butthole. Mind you I’m being polite here. Some comments on one site briefly detailing this incident were actually defending not the possibility of this guy being slandered, but actually defending his borderline harassment. Ah, good old sexism prevails.
And ladies…we’ve all been there. At one time or another, no matter what we look like, we’ve all experienced unwanted advances at some point.
Back when I was younger, and cuter, and sometimes thinner, I had experienced situations such as these. Mind you, I was never as gorgeous as the Twittering model we speak of. So you can imagine that for every aggressive unwanted advance I had to endure, just multiply hers by a hundred.
Ironically I started re-reading this book titled “Thing of Beauty.” It’s about another model, Gia Carangi. Although Melissa Statten isn’t anything like former supermodel Gia, the book offers brief glimpses into the business of looking pretty for the camera. With that, here’s another way of looking at this situation. Melissa the model is in the business based on looks alone. She deals with constant scrutiny, sometimes rejection, and enduring upscale sexual objectification from shallow cretins. There’s a few exceptions, but as a general rule, a fashion model’s time in the limelight is limited. All that matters is your fuckablity, whether or not you show up on time for shoots, and if your look makes the chak-ching sound. Perhaps this encounter with Mr. Married Dramatis Personae was her breaking point.
You see, I believe that feminism and post-feminism doesn’t come from taking a whole bunch of ‘Women Studies’ classes in college, or attending pseudo-intellectual lectures. ‘Cause politically correct academia isn’t the real world. True post-feminism actions happen within everyday situations. Having to deal with continuing misogyny from both genders, that’s the real world. How about underpaid single moms worrying about putting food on the table. That’s the real world. Yeah, yeah, as of this posting it’s the year 2012, but as much as things changed, there’s still of lot that needs to be changed. Having to sit next to an overly aggressive, hypocritical dipsomaniac for a redeye flight – that’s the real world. And sometimes ignoramuses just don’t know when to quit it. So in the end, I’d like to shake Melissa’s hand, when she’s not busy tweeting.