I’m moving my blog permanently over to Tumblr, which I prefer to WordPress. I’m now at:
I’m leaving the bad fantasy art and record posts up because they’re still getting page views. Sorry for any inconvenience.
Bad Fantasy Art 2: The Baddening
(Previous installment here.)
I FOUND IT.
And, as is the way of things, it doesn’t have quite the impact I remember, but it still weirds me out but good. Just…what? And more importantly, why? It gives me the heebs, man. It gives me a powerful case of the heebs. This picture is the visual equivalent of worrying about having caught an STD.
Let us move on to more hilarious things.
We Have Come to Feast Upon Your Soul: The Musical didn’t exactly take Broadway by storm.
Yes, this one’s by famous comic artist Frank Brunner, who painted it sometime in the 70s, I’m sure. And yet, that excuses nothing.
Ah, that ol’ standby, Glowing Chick. Glowing Chick with Big Cat, even! We just won Bad Fantasy Art Bingo! (Guys, this one makes me sad. That–that–is some dude’s idea of his dream woman. Think of this next time you have a low self-esteem moment.)
Let’s not ruin it with words.
“Calgon, take me a–HOLY JESUS FUCK”
If you think that’s something, you should see his penis!
He can’t, because his head’s a city.
Lisa Marie Presley, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Stop making Vagina Eyes cry. It makes everyone uncomfortable.
The 80′s are kind of a blur for Cthulhu. Let’s just say he did some things he’s not proud of and leave it at that.
And finally:
Man: “But, but…why?”
Jolly Green Giant: “Silence, tiny human. It is enough to know you have displeased me.”
Man: “How will I make guacamole?”
Jolly Green Giant: “You and your kind will never taste guacamole again. Now fly to me, my cool, creamy angels.”
Man: “NOooooooooooooOOOOOOOooOOOOOOoooooooooooooo!”
Now go see Coraline in 3-D. It was spiffy.
Magical Mystery Tour! Except not.
I mentioned earlier that I was planning a massive post of bad fantasy art. Well, due to abundant crapulence, it was getting too massive, so I’m going to break it up. Internet friends, welcome to the first installment of Theresa Makes Fun of Bad Fantasy Art. Disclaimer: before accusations of “OMG HATER” crop up, let me just say that I’m a huge, huge fantasy and sci-fi nerd. I love most of this crap. Look what I have saved, 100% un-ironically, in my Pictures folder:
So, the purpose of this post and those to come isn’t to diss the genre. Even those Boris Vallejo-esque paintings of mulleted, muscle-bound men battling lizard monsters while babes in fur bikinis cower nearby, cheesy as they are, can be rendered skillfully enough to be considered legitimate art.
Naturally, legitimacy has no place here. Let’s get to the badness.
Okay, to be fair, this is probably a comissioned piece for the cover of a book or something, so the artist can’t be faulted for most of the character design. However. The triceratops has leopard-print sleeves. Why does the triceratops have leopard-print sleeves.
I just like the look on this guy’s face. He is so fed up with his polar squid deer dragon’s shenanigans.
S/he’s in ur computer, slaying ur…computer? Again, the facial expression is my favorite. What do you think our sexually ambigious knight is about to do? Die in that fire? Have an orgasm? Polish his/her elbow flutes? Try to find some munchies? Some computer chips, perhaps? Get it? Do you? Huh?
Maybe someday a man will love me enough to paint a portrait of my giant, Press-N-Seal wrapped body as my life fluids drain away. Why does the tiger lack hind feet, you ask? It is not for us to wonder why.
“No, minion! You must make MORE prequels! Start with Attack of the Sith Clones: The Revengening. Enormous hats don’t pay for themselves!”
Go ahead, deny the existence of global warming all you like. Just don’t come crying to me when an eagle steals the sun and the moon is absorbed into a maggot-riddled ball of space dung. (The random brush strokes over the left eye bother me SO MUCH, GOD.)
(…Yes. That is what bothers me about this thing.)
Guys. Guys! Is your mind, like, totally blown? It’s, like, surreal and shit. We see, you know, but do we ever really see? Like, with our minds?
Here ends installment one, but don’t worry. There is much, much more come. Images are snagged from Imagenetion, a huge archive of all sorts of fun, pulpy art.
Are you doing the Hustle? ARE YOU?!
To continue along the same 70s line as my last post (there’s any easy cocaine joke in there somewhere, but today I am lazy): two years ago my parents had laminate flooring installed throughout most of their house. My brother’s room became a temporary storage area while everything was in disarray, and there I found my parent’s old record collection. What a collection it is, internet. What a collection it is. (Warning: wee little pictures. I don’t know what happened to them.)
It starts out innocuously enough, with a lot of standard folk and a little disco.
Joni Mitchell: Not much of a looker, but at least her voice was nice and shrill.
Yusef sure liked to give his albums strange titles. That I’m sure he came up with without the aid of controlled substances.
Fuck me but I love John Denver.
I think we can all agree that Carole King is awesome. So far so good, parents.
Put a bra on, hippy.
Hey, B.B. King! Mayhap I misjudged those what gave me life.
The best part? This is my mom’s. My former nun mom’s.
You have at least one ABBA song lurking somewhere in your music collection. You do. Don’t try to deny it. Give in to the harmonious Swedishy goodness.
I will refrain from Travolta jokes due to recent sad happenings. What? Sometimes I’m considerate! Sometimes.
That wasn’t so bad, right? Pretty typical of a young, conventional 70s couple, right? “Theresa,” you are surely thinking, “You’re too hard on your parents. They seem normal enough to me.”
BUT WAIT.
This was not the only Anne Murray album. There were others. Many, many others.
I don’t even know what this is. Was Commander Cody a singer? What was he commander of? Is that a drawing of him? Why is he so scared? Why does that cigarette seem to be growing from one of his teeth? A live one of what? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.
Hell’s bluegrass band is probably better-looking. I’m just saying. (Also: don’t stare at the blue bell bottoms for too long. You’ll be sucked into another, tackier dimension.)
Is that the judge from Top Chef?
Let’s get this party STARTED, people.
Okay, this chick seems pretty cool. She cares not for George Hamilton’s fancy medals and her eyebrow arch is set to “stun.”
She would’ve sold more albums if she’d posed with Jabba in the gold bikini.
I would gently mock this lady, but clearly, she is a gangsta. Look at her throwing signs. Eastern Europe siiiiiide represent.
Robert Frost Reads His Poetry. Are you ready to RAWK?!
I loved Captain Kangaroo!
Let’s just be thankful it wasn’t a windy day.
As you can see, this is unopened, despite being a must for every parent and child. I guess that’s why I’m the way I am now. What’s the deal with that, Mom and Dad? Ripping through thin plastic too much effort for you? Thanks. Thanks a lot.
LOOK AT THAT LITTLE GIRL. I don’t care that she’s, like, 40 now, Child Protective Services should be alerted immediately.
I hope this has been fun for you, because I saved the best for last. And by “best” I mean oh god my eyes. Have you ever wondered, dear reader, what would happen if Richard Simmons impregnated a candy cane?
Yes, this is Aerobic Shape Up II. Do you want to see Aerobic Shape Up I? Do you?
Gaze upon her leotard. Note how the pattern erupts like neon lava from her crotch. Marvel at the tightness of her side ponytail. MARVEL. JOANIE COMMANDS YOU.
Not on their side anymore, are you? I have to admit they’re not that bad, though. They had me, after all, and I’m pretty delightful.
