Cynthia, quite literally, gave birth to the Teratagenic Art Movement.
She’d get pregnant and then take a whole series of birth defects-causing chemicals.
Once the “artwork” was ready, she’d have a late-term abortion and have the monstrosity preserved in a jar.
She was quite a prolific artist, splashing life and death on her revolting canvases.
When menopause finally hit, she realized that she had birthed no heir to pass her craft to.
Nor would any right-minded agency allow her to adopt.
Students came and students went, but the chemicals eventually killed Cynthia.
And the Art Movement with her, thank God.
They called it Dancester – the place to download dances.
Just put in your credit card, sync up your iMind, and you’re ready to dance like the best dancers do.
Of course, not everyone wants to pay for their dances. That’s when the pirated dances started to appear.
The Lords Of The Dance didn’t like their dances getting ripped off, but Dancester couldn’t do anything to stop it.
So a series of pirated dances commanding dancers to slash their throats appeared on pirate sites.
Nobody could prove anything, but the piracy ended quickly.
The Lords danced for joy at the news.
I know you’ve heard of the DaVinci Code, but have you heard of the Dali Code?
Just as the true nature of Christ is in a vault only reachable by following clues laid out by Leonardo DaVinci’s work, Salvador Dali’s work is a map to the Missing Fifteenth Station of the Cross.
Of course he was. Why else would he paint Crucifixion?
Okay, so here’s the secret: Between having his clothes stripped off and getting nailed to the cross, Jesus was slapped with a fish in a bowler hat.
Okay, so he was a weird kind of devout.
Rene slapped off the radio, shot out of bed, and ran to the studio.
His greatest idea yet! So much better than the men in bowlers, the green apples, and the hanging boulders!
He slashed at the canvas with his brush. No sky! No clouds! No background!
Tan. Just tan. Endless tan.
Rene then dabbed his brush into the various colors, shaping and shading the object of his desire.
“Fini!” he shouted. “Ceci n’est pas une foret!”
The lifelike electric drill shone proudly from the canvas.
“Rene, non foret,” said Georgette.
“Non foret?” said Rene. “Beluge? Chat?”
“Pipe,” Georgette said.
“You sunk my naked chick!” yelled Bobby.
Joey laughed. “All I need is your Magritte pipe, and you’re so toast!”
Mandy and Greg smiled. They didn’t like war toys, so they figured that substituting the ships for works of art would help somehow.
Twenty years later, they were in the courtroom as their sons were convicted of trying to steal Michelangelo’s David.
“I told you that the damn alarm was in B7!” growled Joey.
“I thought you said E4!” Bobby yelled back. “Asshole!”
They were sentenced to twenty years apiece
Bobby’s in cell F7. Joey’s in cell F8.