There are 3300 drawings in Shuteye Town 1999. Here are five of them.
I’ve got better versions of all of these available. But these are the ones that hang in the upstairs hall, which constitutes my lame little art gallery.
Why am I showing you? Money, Gus. I’ve got 3300 of’em. Mounted in floating glass frames, they’re guaranteed to stop visitors in their tracks, including nubile young things (if I even still knew the meaning of the words nubile and young.) But here’s the proposition. You can go to my old blog site Deerhound Diary, page and page and page (and page and page) until you find something sufficiently outlandish, obscene, or ridiculous to suit your no doubt maimed esthetic taste, and then place an order at my FB page for an 8″ X 10″ high quality photo printout. The floating frame is your problem. It’s gonna cost you fifty bucks. Why? Because I don’t care whether you buy or not (don’t tell my wife), and I promise to sign each one on the back and include a red bandanna, courtesy of the Shuteye Train.
Now, the big close. Bad iPhone photos of just four of the images shown up top. The fifth failed to reveal its inner non-blurred beauty to both me and my much better half. She’s blaming the phone. I’m blaming the 130-some years we’ve lived between us.
Once upon a time there was Beavis and Butthead. You probably forgot them. I didn’t.
She died, she did. Of an ailment called Shuteye Town. My wife loves all the dark stuff. I just love naked women. Unless they’re dead. Which doesn’t explain this picture , unless I I think I actually drew something that provokes an emotion beyond snark.
Shuteye Town was full of hip-hop. I could show you more but then I’d have to moe you down, sucka.
Where we all be headed, bro. The great “To Be Done” on everybody’s bucket list is Mr. D.
If you enjoy Dancing with Mr. D, please remember to buy the forthcoming book The Lounge Conversations.