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Eric Maloney

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Janie Trades Me Ancient Dominos for Fear and Loathing of Penguins

Terminator Penguin, an item in bARTer Sauce
Terminator Penguin, an item in bARTer Sauce
Terminator Penguin, an item in bARTer Sauce

Janie was oddly quiet while I held her down and forced her to answer my "interview" questions. It might have been the duct tape that I put over her mouth during the parts where she wasn't supposed to talk. So I guess "oddly quiet" isn't the right description. Exactly right quiet. That's what it was: 

Q: How long do you think it would take to teach a monkey to sew?
A: Obviously it depends on the monkey.  Spider monkeys can learn easily, as they already know how to weave. (Their monkey spider webs) 

Eric Trades me Fear and Loathing of Penguins for Big Painting

Rosalie and Eric make a bARTer Sauce trade
Rosalie and Eric make a bARTer Sauce trade
Rosalie and Eric do a bARTer Sauce trade
Rosalie and Eric do a bARTer Sauce trade
Rosalie and Eric do a bARTer Sauce trade
Rosalie and Eric do a bARTer Sauce trade

Eric was kind enough to tolerate a batch of my "interview" questions.

A note from The Sauce -- all of my references to Jo Jo are about my friend Jessica who is a roller derby lady and a burlesque lady and a crafty vunderkind.

It may become apparent that I have no idea what vunderkind means. Or, by some chance, I may have used it correctly. Either way - keep it to yourself.

Fear and Loathing of Penguins

Original Owner: 
benwah
An Item In bARTer Sauce

Eric's Story that Came With Fear and Loathing of Penguins:

Jazz Singer Painting that Wants to Eat Eric's Girlfriend

Original Owner: 
benwah
Painting Titled Jazz Singer

Eric's story - told from the perspective of the Jazz Singer Painting that Wants to Eat Eric's Girlfriend:

I am eight years old. I was born on a cold winter night in Chicago, Illinois when my creator could not sleep and decided to use the paint and canvas he'd purchased months prior in a momentary delusion that he could "be artistic." I began as a random splashing of primary colors. My creator, who will from this point heretofore be known as Bitch Daddy, had no vision. As he'd later explain to me, his chosen process does not begin with an end result in mind, instead he likes to put his hands on something and let it take shape as he goes.

Long story short, I emerged from his creative womb as a colorful abstract of a jazz singer in a nightclub. You may notice my mouth wide open, my earrings, my necklace, and eyebrows. Since 1999, I have lived on the walls of various apartments on Chicago's northside, and since the summer of 2004 have been living on Capitol Hill. At social gatherings, Bitch Daddy gestures toward me, telling people, "You see that painting right there? One day I'm gonna be dead and that thing is gonna be valuable!" Well, as things have turned out, there is no longer a place for me in the home of my creator. He co-habitates with his super-sexy and cerebral rollergirl burlesque dancer girlfriend, and apparently, I frighten her.

You see, as they are not allowed to put holes in the walls of their apartment, the only place I fit is on top of the window frame in their bedroom. Sometimes, she wakes up in the middle of the night and the image that Bitch Daddy created as a jazz singer belting out a sultry note in a nightclub, to her, looks like a monster that wants to eat her. And then she can't sleep, or she can but has nightmares of being eaten alive. Either way, I've got to go. I carry no sour grapes.

I mean, with this girl in his life, Bitch Daddy has it pretty good, and how can I compete? I don't laugh at his jokes, walk his dog, or play with his willy. Relatively speaking, I bring very little to the table. Insult to injury, he apparently wants to trade me in for a larger painting of two vaginas because, as he has said, "The only thing better than a vagina is two vaginas, plus, the vagina painting is large enough to cover the unsightly electrical panel in my new office. Bonus! Double Bonus!" Lovely. And so here we are, I am seeking a foster home. Please don't let me wind up on the back of a milk carton. Can you help me?

Eric Gives Me the Jazz Singer Painting that Wants to Eat his Girlfriend in Exchange for Double Vaginas

bARTer Sauce Trade
bARTer Sauce Trade

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

I feel much better now.

"Double Vaginas" is gone. It is no longer in my living room right across from the chair I sit in while we watch television.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive Ben for bringing that into my life. Normally I wouldn't mind. Normally. But this one hung around for quite awhile. Plus, it's huge. HUGE.

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