Secrets and lies and guys
While going through the phenomenon of the simple genius that is the Post Secret art-project, you can’t help but embrace a range of emotions that you never thought existed – all due to a few anonymous words, scribbled on a piece of cardstock.
After glossing over the postcards, you get a sense 98 per cent of them are written by under-medicated and overstressed soccer mommies who live in Bumfuck, USA, or bi-curious, female college students who have serious problems with telling the truth to the father’s of their children, and issues with their GI tracts and PMS.
Not once do you read a card that’s written from a man. And, when you do, they’re boring. Nothing about being molested by your neighbourhood priest, nothing about having your grandmother catching you masturbating, nothing about cheating on someone and giving them a "mysterious" rash. Nothing.
Who knew men were yawn-inducing blokes?
Get out there and do something freaky so the world can read about it, and if you can’t do that, make up some shit! The nastier the lies, the better the chance they'll be online (and later in a book). That way, when they’re posted, you can get a good laugh. It's twisted, but oh so fun!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to drop off some postcards in the mail.
After glossing over the postcards, you get a sense 98 per cent of them are written by under-medicated and overstressed soccer mommies who live in Bumfuck, USA, or bi-curious, female college students who have serious problems with telling the truth to the father’s of their children, and issues with their GI tracts and PMS.
Not once do you read a card that’s written from a man. And, when you do, they’re boring. Nothing about being molested by your neighbourhood priest, nothing about having your grandmother catching you masturbating, nothing about cheating on someone and giving them a "mysterious" rash. Nothing.
Who knew men were yawn-inducing blokes?
Get out there and do something freaky so the world can read about it, and if you can’t do that, make up some shit! The nastier the lies, the better the chance they'll be online (and later in a book). That way, when they’re posted, you can get a good laugh. It's twisted, but oh so fun!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to drop off some postcards in the mail.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
5 Comments:
So, you got my postcard.
there's a card for everything, now.
I want a card too.
Apparently, I have too much free time on my hands.
I'd send you something nasty from Shanghai, but, alas, no where to send it. So, I'll do it here: He said, 'me so horny.' And then he sat on my face. Loving China,
Jetboy.
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