Vanity Lair

They enter through a door. Sad eyes and mad smiles, all manic come-ons and put offs. A selection of colours straight from the rack. Pastels and natural shades fight neon explosions in Transylvania. Self-satisfied smirks and air humping.

Cliché spouts from their two dimensional mouths, vast swathes of mental abuse for the casual viewer. Like, you know. Like, irritating yeah?

They rate each other from portraits. Sad eyes and mad smiles, one to ten. Gilt framed. Gift wrapped for your viewing pleasure. Gliding tongues lick the air, come get some baby they say. Their words are a vacuum for sanity. Absorbing logic and regurgitating The Most Popular Phrases TM. Coz that like, makes you smart like all your mates, yeah?

Pastel parades and prancing ninny’s. Posturing like peacocks with surgically enhanced plumage. A pool so shallow the sand is merely damp. Spitting daggers and throwing stars into the backs of their rivals, crawling over their bloody carcasses to get their face in shot. I blame Eastenders.

They enter through a door, wiping their feet of the last dread grains of sanity and dignity on the mat.

Maybe in week three thousand the producers drop the bomb, save our souls and we’ll all laugh at how stupid we were.

Vanity Lair

spandexbeast

Joined March 2008

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Artist's Description

Reaction to TV’s latest ass birth “Vanity Lair”

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