Random Restless

Showing posts with label Photoshopped. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Photoshopped. Show all posts

12/2/10

Palin for President!


I am so sick of the world we've let happen...

...of NYC turning to plastic, phony as a high-rent hooker's smile, as it services the Wall Street party-til-you-puke aristocracy ...of cellphones, wi-fi, and shiny people infesting every corner of public space, broadcasting their emptiness ...of people "following" people on Twitter, "real" people on reality TV, "friendship" on Facebook, and all the other noise that helps us forget the difference between going somewhere and going nowhere.

It can all go burn in hell.

We have reached the End of Democracy, and found that freedom is more than we can handle. We are idiots in diapers, O Lord, who have fouled everything you gave us.  The universe would be better off if earth was replaced with a dirty black hole, sucking in garbage tossed off other planets.


Sarah Palin morphs to Jim Jones

So I hereby endorse Sarah Palin for president in 2012, and offer the following campaign slogan.

Palin for President:
Let's just get it over with!

The sooner she gets to work, the sooner all this crap will be erased and we can return to the Eden our Founding Fathers knew, savoring the flavor of our fingers as we rubbed our hair with possum fat to make it shine, and enjoying the simplicity of a world where, when you noticed someone "following" you, you detoured into the woods and snuck up behind them, then hit them over the head with a club.


Don't laugh, she could win.  Politically cunning, and burning with hatred for anyone who's dissed her, she makes other GOP hopefuls look like the tired hacks they are.  Our arrogant prince of a mayor will run on his own billions and split the vote with Obama, leaving Palin the winner.  I always figured she'd make a decent banana republic dictator, and it won't be long before we find out.

10/26/10

Beekman Tower Launch Party

While vacationing in Florida, I tested
the concept with a single Saturn V rocket

If I ruled the world I would give the cream of the financial industry free apartments in Beekman Tower, then throw a blow-out party with gourmet food and recreational drugs served by sex professionals working the halls from top to bottom.

Then I would seal the entrance, strip the scaffolds camouflaging the half dozen surplus Saturn V rockets I had strapped to the building, and press the launch button.

Note that it wouldn't cost me a huge amount to pull this off because, where the typical manned space flight requires an expensive guidance system to go somewhere specific and come back, I really don't care where the rocket goes, just so long as it never comes back.

10/8/09

Maya Lin to Atlantic Yards

Seeing Maya Lin's work, left, reminded me of my simplest design for the proposed Atlantic Yards Nets Arena.

I don't care if the Nets new Russian owner is ready to spend like Bloomberg going after a fifth term, the Yards site is architecturally cursed.

This design is guaranteed to invalidate all complaints about crappy architecture and how the arena might fit into the surrounding environment -- by burying the whole thing beneath a gigantic mound covered in grass, in a style the ancients referred to as "green architecture," below right.

Fans won't care that they're buried alive.  They'll be too busy watching the massive plasma TV screen hung above the court, with closeups of LeBron James diving into the laps of Siberian supermodels in court-side seats, wrapped in wolf pelts, nibbling caviar bagels, and pouring Stoli down their gullets like gas into a Hummer.

To pay off the bonds needed to complete the project, the mound can be covered with billboards, like any other arena.  Then the BQE can be re-routed by the mound so there's an audience for the billboards.  That swell, sustainable future is rendered below.

10/5/08

Sarah the Barbarian


Sarah Palin, as Frank Rich points out so well today, has more testosterone than McCain and all his tired Swift Boat hacks put together, plus the unfounded confidence of 10 George Bush Juniors.

I look forward to a bright future (after nuclear winter clears up) as a member of her bloodthirsty clan.

[ Previously: Palin Seduces Moose ]

9/14/08

Palin Seduces Moose

Palin seduces Bullwinkle, lonely in rutting season.  He woke up
missing his antlers and musk gland -- he might as well be a squirrel!

Warning: This is serious and yes, another rant.  I realize that people like Frank Rich, Paul Krugman, Gail Collins, and Jon Stewart are already doing a better job than I ever could, but that doesn't stop me.  If you love life, how could you not be upset at a time like this?

I've been heartened by the aggressiveness of the New York Times this week, in both its editorials and reporting; the world needs journalists to step up, and so few media empires give them the chance.

And I made the mistake of reading Michael Goodwin in the Daily News' free handout.  He lambastes the Times for letting non-GOP reporters dig into the facts behind Gov. Palin's front, as though fairness is what happens when you stand midway between facts and fiction.  (Interesting how Creationists use the same bogus "fairness" argument to weasel their way into science class.)

Goodwin repeats what the GOP considers Palin's qualifications, that she is not just "pro-life" but can "field-dress a moose."  He's rehashing the GOP dream factory script that brought us the B-movie heroes Reagan -- whose chief accomplishment was demonizing the idea of government and "the common good" -- and Bush Jr., who, along with a GOP congress, has demonstrated the inevitable result of the GOP's cynical philosophy.

Why does the GOP make my blood boil?  Because:

1) It is a con, top to bottom.  It's created an alternate reality at the core of the world, where facts -- which can be shared by people of different faiths and worldviews -- don't exist.  Where whoever cons best wins.  The GOP, since long before Rove, has had an uncanny knack for getting voters to let their resentment trump common sense and their own self interest.

Most people just want to be left alone; people are anxious because technology and globalization are pulling the rug out from under them.  The GOP sells a simple fiction to counter that anxiety -- the world is black & white, just like Leave it to Beaver -- trying to make a knee-jerk response to the world seem principled.

In a world wired together like never before, where actions cause complex hair-trigger reactions, that's a drunk-driving, suicide-murder level of irresponsibility.  And in true Con Man fashion, while one hand distracts the other helps the filthy rich get richer; meanwhile the religious right has no worries -- why should they when they -- like Bush and Palin -- believe their knee-jerk impulses are part of God's plan, and that they'll wind up in heaven no matter what happens to the rest of the world?

2) Their love of ignorance.  I think curiosity is at the center of the "life force."  The GOP and religious right hate curiosity, because it leads to facts and answers that challenge their narrow beliefs.  I really don't see the point of life if we're all supposed to sit here in the dark, regurgitating the words of a single book, as though life, human history and everything else could be reduced to one literal explanation, like a car repair manual.

And since I'm pretty sure I have a better idea of what's on God's mind than the fundamentalists, I'll just add: He/She is not happy with those who insist on blind ignorance and spit in the face of all His/Her work.

(If someone from Focus on the Family stumbles on this and has an aneurysm over "He/She," I'm happy to have facilitated God's plan; one of "the Left's" worst habits is wasting decency on those who wouldn't spend an ounce on anyone else.)

God has also shown that when it comes to earth we're on our own.  All we can do is try to keep a level head as the Swift Boats approach, flinging crap, and do our best to steer toward the light.

7/11/08

Fixing Karl Fischer 2


Here we cloak the slobbering big brother of Karl Fischer Row (20 Bayard) in a Frank Gehry outfit.

Note below that I've made sure the empty clock-face / eyeball -- the signature element of Karl's design -- still peeks out the hood.



[ Fixing Karl Fischer 1 ]

6/5/08

Fixing Karl Fischer 1


To fix this Karl Fischer monstrosity, lurking like a one eyed pervert at the edge of McCarren Park:

Find the oiliest strain of ivy you can find, plant it on top, and grow a massive, verdant Jheri curl (plus extensions on the side).

Sorry, I know it's not the greatest illustration.  But digital animators in Hollywood have spent billions trying to simulate realistic hair and it still looks phony, so I would be an idiot to waste any more time on this than I already have.

[ Fixing Karl Fischer 2 ]
[ Karl Fischer in The Showerhead ]

4/25/08

Karl Fischer in `The Showerhead`


Every time I walk by architect Karl Fischer's timeless Empty Clockface building on McCarren Park, I think: I know I've seen that look somewhere.  I believe I am getting closer to the source of his inspiration with the picture above.

Having recently watched The Fountainhead, and watched Karl help turn this area into a luxury condo theme park, I'd guess it's only a matter of time before his life story is immortalized on film; let's call it The Showerhead.

The Showerhead will tell the story of the architect "who could not say NO," who brought the soul-deadening plastic of the suburbs to the city, and designed buildings that make you wish The Fountainhead's Gary Cooper would blow them up.

Developers couldn't care less about what the rest of us have to look at, and condo owners live inside the hideous creation, the one place where they don't have to look at it.  It's up to supposedly high-minded architects to save us, and Karl's just not getting the job done.


The fantasy boulevard setting of Karl's Warehouse 11 promo picture, above left (compare it to the less spacious reality, right), betrays its purely suburban origin, designed for a world where people drive everywhere, and where a home is not part of some organic neighborhood rich with diversity and history, but just a garage where residents park the alienated corporate work-unit their soul has become.

The only good looking building Karl's produced is the Ikon, left; they are not done yet, so they still have time to wreck it.

It looks like a slick Swedish ant farm, the perfect setting for another movie or reality TV show -- call it The Glass House -- about the problems of Wall Street worker ants so filthy rich and hollow it hurts, and leaves them wondering if their life of shuffling other people's money from one esoteric financial instrument to another has lost all meaning, so they spend their nights in drug-fueled debauchery, and greet the dawn with their naked bodies stuck to the Ikon glass like suction toys stuck inside a car window.

If only Karl could return to the inspiration for that one.

[ Critical Fountainhead ]