See, now you're just being vicious. And silly.

I empathize with your complaint and I, too, feel that people too often indulge in the humble brag. But I also believe that part of the problem is that society has not yet learned the language with which to express their genuinely more accepting and tolerant positions. We simply haven't yet acquired a comfortable…

Aaaaah, her cold clammy scaly skin punctuated by a dense matrix of prickly stiff primordial feathers; I must have her!

No, Carlin is much more right than you care to acknowledge. Coke or Pepsi, Pro Life or Pro Choice, Instant Annihilation or Slow and Tortuous Extinction; these are our false choices.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that…"

Koons is a fucking hack? Aha, there's the tell. You've finally revealed yourself. You've shown your true colors. The cat's out of the bag! The horses have left the barn!! The turd has evacuated the rectum!!! etc, etc…

It isn't his particular style or his easily imitable technique or his obscenely maudlin subject matter or his peculiar and even disturbing—to me—demeanor which renders his paintings so terrible. It's ALL of it, the sum total of his relentlessly trivial, tedious, and ultimately entirely irrelevant production that…

Reviewing your comment I realized that the key point which you've so confidently and comfortably published is actually quite inaccurate, nor does it apply to the art or artists which I happen to appreciate and respect and enjoy. You seem to believe that more technically competent, more purposeful, more linearly…

Him, or maybe Zappa.

Tirade? That qualifies today as a tirade? Oh bother, pass the bottle?

Happy to oblige. Good day to you.

You've very eloquently—and linearly and methodically—expressed your position as to what constitutes worthwhile art, and it's a rational enough viewpoint which is certainly shared in varying degrees by a fair majority of folks who bother or happen to have an opinion on the subject. I understand and to a considerable…

You've totally painted a word picture. Now, how can you transform it into a revelatory, unprecedented reality? Ah, there's the crux of the biscuit.

You've achieved unprecedented levels of meta-irony with your transcendently sublime quip. Also, Bewbs!

You're doing too much meth. Or not enough.

There's no right way to do it. That's what makes it so kewl.

He died with a bullet to the neck. Awesome!

I wonder how many young and not quite so young females watched this show just for Depp. I bet it's more than any other demographic, other than maybe the grotesque sad preeverts ogling the hot coeds, that is.

You have a relatively low tolerance for reality. Ooof.

Wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ross sucked major moose cock. That's a technical appraisal of his approach and work. And the nauseating image of him with his revoltingly unbuttoned shirt still haunts me. Like a pesky persistent wildebeest fart.