Anything ever made by apple
Mac Computers? Why would anyone buy a PC 2 years out of date for £1500 just cause it's white and looks pretty??

And the twunts who spend hundreds of pounds on IPods! Whats all that about? (look at me I can carry 2000 songs around with me). Why the fuck would you want to do that??
(EauDeFromage, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 16:11, Reply)

My Housemate
Used to be my next door neighbour when we were kids. Now he's a famous DJ.

On the phone to one of his famous DJ mates, talking about a tune he'd heard...

"Yeah... it's by Duran Duran Duran... it's called 'I Hate The 80s'... it's a kind of Drill 'n' Bass mash-up."
(Tarabas, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 16:10, Reply)

FIST
I recently went to an art fair next to the Royal Albert Hall. One of the pieces for sale was called "FIST". It was made from green resin, and contained gloves and condoms collected from the floor of an S&M club, where gay couples would fist one another by the dancefloor. Apparantly they would wear these gloves for hygiene reasons (otherwise it would just be disgusting).
I thought it might make a nice present for my parents ruby wedding anniversary, but I couldn't afford the £10k price tag.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 15:52, Reply)

Speeding
Speeding is wrong. It kills people.

And to prove my point I'm going to drive everywhere at 110 mph.

The filth can't touch me, it's art.
(Analyst, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 15:48, Reply)

haha!
the artist mentioned by Analyst is the epitomy of this contest!

clublet.com/c/c/house?page=MarkMcGowan

what a nonce.
(teasus likes tea, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 15:45, Reply)

Dripping tap
Back in July there was a story about an artist, Mark McGowan, who had set up a "work of art" at the House Gallery in Camberwell, south London.

It was a running tap.

news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4720741.stm

In a month it wasted 800,000 litres of water.

He did it to highlight water wastage.

I don't agree with paedophilia, but do I demonstrate my unease by buggering five year olds?

Twunt...

"A US computer analyst has been told he can buy the work for £1,500 - despite the fact the artist used the gallery's own sink and taps."

.. with balls!
(Analyst, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:57, Reply)

I would post a story, but I prefer to express myself through the medium of dance.
(Elizabeth Duke at Argos, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:53, Reply)

Ah yes!
"And now, please put your hands together and give a huge Blackpool welcome to...The Conjoined Hitlers!"

I had come here not knowing what to expect. All I had been told prior to my arrival at the North Pier was that I was in for an electrifying sensory overhaul not dissimilar to having my body turned inside-out, laid out on a bed of salmon and delicately licked by a troupe of hungry Armenian boys. So here I was.

Before me, beneath the starlit summer sky, was a four-piece band consisting of three men and one woman. They had a selection of musical instruments, some of which appeared more familiar than others. The frontman, a thin, mule-like young fellow with an equine mane, forelock and all, stepped up to the microphone and promptly switched it off with a click. "We need not such artificial means of amplification!" he announced proudly. "For we sing with the lungs of God and we play with the fingers of Satan!" The band then lurched into an uncomfortable blend of skiffle, chamber music and morse code.

The amputee percussionist, eyes closed and face contorted, was using his arm stumps to pound out a disjointed rhythm upon a selection of malnourished primates. In addition to the percussive sound of stump upon mammal, the beasts were wailing painfully with every blow, except for a colobus monkey that seemed to be cooing blissfully, glad of the attention. What the percussionist lacked in upper limbs he more than compensated for in lower ones. His formidable legs protruded out towards either side of the stage like angular, denim-clad stage-pythons. His left foot was sheathed in a hefty black boot, and this tapped merrily at a tambourine suspended from the stage ceiling by a thin rope wound entirely from beagle hair. His right foot was bare, and the spindly toes moved in a wonderful contra-rhythm, tickling the female band member's puckered quincy. This caused her to hoot sporadically while she strummed a strange electric guitar/French horn hybrid instrument with her unfathomably pointed knees. Her wiry hands brandished an emperor penguin and common cormorant, and she used these to strike violently at a large, ornate harp. The shrieks of the birds would have been more audible had they not been muffled by the musician's firm grip around their beaks. Nevertheless, the force with which they bounced off the harp's mighty strings sent feathers billowing out around the stage and over towards the brass player. His brasses were crumpled and bent. His moist, pink face was swollen and scrotal. Brown sweat poured from his slanted forehead. His eyes were mere slits while his mouth was thick and wet. The odour of vinegar emanated from his every pore.

"Glorious, is it not?" a young lady asked from behind. I turned to face her.
"Pray, fair nymph. What is this rare spectacle before us?" I asked.
"Thou art either naive or elsewise thou hath head cancer, sire," the harlot guffawed.
I humoured her. "Indeed, I am afflicted by both of these conditions! Please teach me about this music."
"Canst thou not tell with thine ears?" she answered. "'Tis the story of the bible told in music!"
Suddenly it all made perfect sense. With a swift arm movement I sent her bellowing like a pregnant she-ox over the edge of the pier and into the steaming Gulf of Morecambe. I then returned my attention to the music.

The frontman was staring at the stars, the little finger of each hand inserted firmly and deeply inside the corresponding nostril. He seemed to be pushing at his eyeballs from the inside, causing himself to emit such a sound (and stench) that the assembled throng spontaneously dropped to their knees and twitched awhile. But not I. I remained steadfast. I resolved to bring this nonsense to an end. I stepped forward and was going to mount the stage and send them all into the bubbling brine of the great Gulf. But I had not anticipated what would happen next.

The stage began to rise beneath an onslaught of strobe lighting. It was only when this happened that I realised the band had been playing for all this time inside a giant revolving brothel. Women writhed all around, fellating middle-aged men and committing hand robbery. Young whorelets were being jimmynudged as they teasingly screamed, "Please don't hurt me," while elderly scrubbers were wildly educating young men in the ways of jugflappery and flapwaggery.

I took a run and managed to leap onto the stage, fully intending to join in. And I would have succeeded had I not been so disaster prone, stepping on a gibbon and causing an almighty brawl to break out. One young man threatened a young lady with a broken Moet and Chandon bottle, and the lady replied, "Sorry. I only allow myself to be gored by men wielding Bollinger!"

Pretentious little slag.
(stusut79, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:52, Reply)

Bugger.
I was going to write, "See all of my previous posts for pretentious bollocks" and leave it at that, but a couple of people have already singled my writing out for this in a similar fashion. I suppose I'll have to come up with something else. Let me think.
(stusut79, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:48, Reply)

Pretentious? Yep. Art? Yep. Bloody stupid? You betcha!
Those of you from Oop Naaarth might remember this from the news several years ago.

Whilst I was attending the wonderful University of Sunderland (god forgive me I was drunk) a written exam was taking place for the performing arts students. Half way through said exam it appears that one of the students taking part went a little bit postal and stormed to the front of the hall brandishing a gun and started telling everyone present he couldn't take the pressure and was going to kill them all.

Once the inital panic had subsided, one of the other students realised that they were indeed still in Sunderland which, despite being a bit rough, is not exactly the bronx. Remembering this he guessed the chances of the gun being real were slim to none and so calmly walked to the front of the hall and decked the twat.

The first I knew of this was when the armed police suddenly swarmed the entire campus. It turned out, however, that the gun wielding pschyopath was in fact just a plain old pretentious arty tit end who decided instead of waiting till the following week to perform his solo piece he would incorporate it into a real life situation to make it more believable.

Strangely enough the judge was not a fan of his art either and gave him quite a sizable sentence.

Ha.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:41, Reply)

Tormented Soul
Feel the raging tormented soul of the author as he inexorably faces the antipodean souls all hungering for the same lightness of being, only to find the final and undeniable answer was within all along.
Here.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:38, Reply)

Pretentious films
3. Moulin Rouge - this wasn't even funny. I walked out half way through.

2. Blair Witch Project - just a bunch of students pissing around with a camcorder and thinking they're oh-so-terribly clever and interesting. I wanted to walk out half way through but stayed, in the hope that it would actually get scary and that the four teenage Traceys sitting in the back row would finally stop chattering away to each other and instead urinate on themselves. It never did, and they never did.

1. Absolute Beginners. The worst film ever made, ever. This is what happens if you give an art student a budget. I took a girl to see this on a date. I was extremely hot for her and she was quite fond of me. By the time the pitiful thing had run its dreary, arty-farty, plotless, songless, talentless course, we could barely look at each other. The moment had well and truly passed. And it never came back.

Apologies? Kiss my length.
(><(((">, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:14, Reply)

B3TA
Used to be a place where you could pop on and have a laugh, seems to me now that it is full of petty little wankers who sit whining about the style which other people's posts are written in.
If you think that STUSUT79 is pretentious then the irony is obviously wasted on you.
(Less is more? yes, that post made me laugh, I will forever regale my friends with your razor like humour).

It is for this reason that this will be my last post.
I have been on here for years and now I'm so disappointed with the amount of fucking unfunny geeks on here,
pissing on about image sizes and other fucking cockshit, that I'm off.
Never to post another fucking comment again.

You people killed this site and stuffed it's name up the swollen arsehole of its own pretentiousness.

You have won.
You fucking cunts.

The End.
(JinDod, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:11, Reply)

audiOh shit
almost forgot about Janek Schaefer ("Sound Artist, Musician, Composer and Architect"). A man who has designed a 'revolutionary' 3-armed turntable which renders anything you put on it ear-bleedingly awful.
www.audioh.com/projects/triphonic.html

I sat through an hour-long performance where Janek put records on this thing. A full hour of atonal shrieking and feedback - every so often Janek would change the record for a new one and the sound would stay exactly the fucking same.

turntablists with cymbals? they've nothing on Janek
(eightAce, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 14:04, Reply)

Chicago
I'm an Engineer and so have a slightly logical view of the arts.
Every time my mother comes down to the 'smoke we have to go to the bloody theatre, so we went to see chicago, except it wasn't, it was the dances of the choreographer from Chicago.
Arse.
So relieved the interval arrived, stood at the bar, asked dear mother "so I'm no quite sure- I thought I was following the story line for the 1st 10 minutes but then I lost it" to which a random punter in at the bar informed me there was no storyline, it was just dance.
Embarrased? no, just sore at the loss of the cash on the tickets.... shitesville!

p.s. the eggs are a revelation - EGGScellent!
(GBDennis, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 13:58, Reply)

whatafarce?
do you appear to be from hull? lovely so am i.. i once got to make some pretentious art in the ferens with my primary school on the floor using ladders or some gobshite..i also read those look books.. then got to do work experience...reading look books to the small ones.. my baby brother is nearly two, i bet he could read that book. - i also hate pretentious emo poetry and i slap myself on the wrist whenever i feel the urge...i find most modern art pretentious...dont even get me started on modern music.or drama students.
(Salbo_baggins, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 13:58, Reply)

Well, seeing as i'm a painter, living in London's fashionable but cheap east end....
I'm hardly spoilt for choice for answers...

Most memorable was the performance piece in a beaufitful victorian chapel just off the Befnal Green road. The chapel was darkened, and had what appeared to be globlets of sperm hanging from the ceiling (when the lights came up we could see that they were infact water bombs in white tights), and a german woman sort of crying about how her mother didn't love her.

Actually thinking about it thats quite good... even if I did have suppress laughter during the piece

Better than the sheer amount of pretentious art texts at exhibitions, referencing Baudrillard, Leyotard, and other icons of Postmodernity... its visual art it either works visually or not..

However I do wonder if a significant proportion of the people here would be saying 500 or so years ago 'ooh that Botticelli hes painted a woman standing up out of a seashell, whats that supposed to mean, eh? bloody artists!'
(ohmyliver, Thu 29 Sep 2005, 13:55, Reply)

coniston water festival
last weekend. posters and programmes covers done by a local 'art group' (grizedale artsts). its a family festival, spesifically for kids really. in a small quaint town in the lake district. prides itself on swallows and amazons etc. So; Hentei it is then!

www.conistonwaterfestival.org.uk/

go and look. be stunned. look carefully. be horrified.

"coniston water festival. peado's welcome"
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Thu 29 Sep 2005, 13:50, Reply)