Some of you may have noticed that I have changed the name of my blog from Work: Why? to The Starving Bulls**t Artist. To those of you out there who didn’t notice the new name, this is your head’s up.
Now, I realize there are some people out there who don’t like change. It scares them and throws them out of their comfort zone. We all know those types of people. If you happen to be one of those people, get the fuck off my blog and go churn your own butter or white wash a fence or something. I have neither the time or inclination to coddle your insecurities.
This blog is for those brave indidviduals who look Change square in the eye and say, “Bring it on, motherfucker!”
Okay, now that those people are off, I can explain why I changed the name of my blog.
Work: Why? was a tad misleading. Everyone works for a reason and they usually know what that reason is. Do you see how that’s confusing?
The Starving Bulls**t Artist, on the other hand sums up me and what I stand for pretty well.
You see, some artist create sculptures out of stone, marble, or clay. Like Rodin, for example.
Other artists create beautiful drawings and paintings that are so life-like one feels they could touch the painting and instead feeling canvas, they would feel the soft,warm cheek of a pretty girl’s face. Da Vinci is a good example.
But there are other less celebrated artist whose medium is neither paint or stone, ink or clay. This unsung artists’ medium is…bullshit.
The bullshit artist has the innate ability to make up outlandish stories that contain just enough truth to be convincing, but not so much to tangle up the beautiful yarn the bullshit artist has woven.
Bullshit artists are made up of, among others, the greatest story tellers in history. Some people call bullshit artists liars, and maybe they are. But let’s not split hairs or quibble over semantics, as it’s unpleasant.
Believe it or not (and you may not, as I myself am a bit of a bullshitter) I had never heard of this term until a few years ago.
You see, I was given a box of business cards for a birthday present. Now normally if someone were to give me that sort of gift for any special occasion, I would fly into a screaming, red-faced, frothing at the mouth rage.
Before things got to that point, the giver of this gift told me to open the box and read one of the cards. I did so, and the card said:
Bullshit Artist Extraordinaire
I ordered a dozen more boxes and that’s how I’ve identified myself ever since. Isn’t that a wonderful story?
No? Then, piss off.
Now that I’ve explained the “Bullshit” part of the title, I’ll move on to the other part of the new title: Starving.
It’s quite simple really: I’m broke and I need money. Not for food, mind you, as I am sufficiantly nourished. I need money, I’m starving, if you will, for the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed but no longer maintain.
So send me some money, okay? 🙂