Jersey Takes it in the Shorts; Story # 8

Jersey Shorr Story # 8

By Mike Stevens

 

 

     Oh no, another endless day reviewing so-called art, that probably looked like a parrot took a crap on some canvas.  Jersey Shorr thought ‘probably’, because his eyesight sucked, and he could no longer see much, other that it was a rectangle or a square.  If it was any other shape, he’d be in trouble.  He would be likely to describe a cereal bowl as a painting that looked like it was done by a 3-year old during art time at the ‘Waddle, Waddle, Toil and Trouble” daycare.  He knew he could, and his readers had demanded it, write whatever he wanted, so the fact he couldn’t  ‘technically’ see what he was supposed to review, wasn’t really a problem.  It turned out, people read his critiques not for his review of the artwork in question, but to see how descriptive he could be in his rank; how creative he could be in coming up with new ways to slam something.  Just now, he had picked up the first piece he was supposed to review for ‘Art From Around the Globe’ monthly magazine.  His mind had been busy coming up with a new way to describe the piece, which was in reality a picture of the artist’s daughter sitting in a rocking chair. 

 

     “What is this crap?  Some kind of a reject-looking blob riding what looks to be, yes, a hobby-horse.  I mean this is strictly amateur hour, and from the rushed blotches of paint, amateur seconds.”

    

 

     Later, after this months’ issue had hit the newsstands, Jersey was attending an amateur art show, because his presence would lend instant credibility to the show, and the organizers had paid a pretty penny for his guarantied attendance.  He was angry and bored, as he entered the hall.  He didn’t want to be here, smiling and shaking hands with dip-s**t amateur artists who were looking to him for approval.

 

 

     “What’s it supposed to be, a drunk carnival worker trying to run The Tilto-Whirl?”

 

     “How dare you!  It’s my impression of a priest giving absolution to a dying man.”

     Oh s**t; “Well it looks more like a depression, as in looking at it makes me depressed!”

 

     “You, sir, are one nasty man.”

 

     “Good for you; you can count to one; you have to use your fingers, but still.”

 

     The show was mercifully coming to the end.  Jersey had his mind on a tall, no, make that several tall, glasses of beer, which he would buy at the first tavern he came to.  This show was taking place within walking distance of his home, so he already was mentally walking through the front door of Clancy’s, his favorite tavern, which was just around the corner from his house. 

 

     “Goodbye everyone; good paintings on the whole.”  Yeah, a s**t hole! he thought to himself.  At last, this fricking joke of a laughable show is over.   He turned, and started to head for the exit, when his way was blocked by an extremely angry-looking guy in a pink shirt.

 

     “Excuse me, but I was told that you’re Jersey Shorr.”

 

      “You got some lousy information, mister, I just passed him on the way out, and he said,  “Do you see that fellow over there with the fruity-looking pink shirt?  Can you please tell him that The Powder Puffs Car Wash and Bake Sale, to earn money for underprivileged kids who feel trapped in the wrong body, is NEXT weekend?”

    

 

     The next thing Jersey was aware of was a policeman’s concerned face bending over him.  What had happened?  Try as he might, he just couldn’t clear his groggy head.  Then the policeman said,

 

     “We received a 911 call from a lady who says she helped organize this show, saying that some guy when nuts and knocked you out.  Care to tell me who and why?”

 

     Jersey really couldn’t remember, so he replied, “No, but it appears I took it in the shorts.”

 

                                             The End