Beauty

Folks, if this is rock bottom, why do I feel so comfy? Seriously, I had to forcibly restrain myself from drawing a little guinea pig face on the bald head of the man in front of me on the train this morning. He had these two little moles, that if properly manipulated with a few strokes (ew!) of the pen, would quickly become the sweet and inquisitive face of my first pet guinea pig, Short Round (yes, named after Dr. Jones's spunky sidekick). Yet, I restrained myself, for he was a big dude and could have sent little Freeman flying onto the third rail to meet a gruesome end.

But would it even be that bad to die for your ART????  Let's ask celeb Jake Busey:

Oh shit! My bad, that's not Jake, just his guinea pig SPITTING FUCKING IMAGE! Seriously, do you SEE Jake in there? I sure as shit do. He's addled as fuck and maybe a bit strung out to boot, but he's there. But I have always had this incredible vision, kind of like x-ray vision, but much much cooler... hence my ability to basically use my eyes as LASERS to unearth this incredible STONE GUITAR, one played by King Arthur!!!!

Oh my god, I am going to be so fucking RICH!!!!

Here I am, in my lab. I stumbled across this massive chunk of Wisconsin gold on a holiday to America's Dairyland a few summers ago, and with just ONE LOOK, I fucking KNEW it was hiding the original model for Mt. Rushmore. Lost for decades, this American treasure was found thanks to my Special Power and is now residing in the Smithsonian. Those evil Midwesterners thought they could hide it from me and ship that shit to the fucking Russkies. NO SIR! Not on my watch, bitches.

Not on my watch.