"Brigador Spinelli, Gallery Owner"
By Christine Stoddard
Welcome to my art gallery--the finest in all the city! No, the finest in all the region--no, the coast! No, the country! That's right, it's the finest art gallery in all of the continental United States of America. Yes, all the major newspapers and magazines have reviewed it. Did you see the latest article in, you know, what's it called? That rather prestigious magazine with the little top-hatted man holding the monocle? Well, you know what I mean.
Anyway, you should feel honored to be here. After all, there are authentic Fallen-Longhorns in your presence. Yes, real Fallen-Longhorns. Not reproductions, but actual canvases. I even have "Conversations with Intestinally Confused Clouds" and "Golden Czech Fruits Floating in the Sun" Right here. Oh, why the quizzical expression? Oh, I guess I shouldn't have used the abbreviated titles. My apologies. I really shouldn't be so casual. I have "Infinite Conversations with Ten Intestinally Confused Cumulous Clouds on a Sunday Afternoon in Paris Before the Fog" right here. And "Forty Golden Czech Fruits Frivolously Floating in the Hot Sun on a Tuesday Morning." Here. In this very gallery. Isn't that incredible?
Don't tell me you haven't heard of Marcus Fallen-Longhorns, Jr. You look like you've never even heard of the name. How dreadful! Pitiful! Impossible!
No, that expression means 'possible.'
Please! Don't widen those simian eyes of yours any wider. I understand. You don't recognize the name. I'm appalled. You don't actually consider yourself a cultured person, do you? You must've stepped foot into my gallery because you heard there was free food. Maybe you wanted a sip of a French wine whose name you couldn't pronounce because you failed Spanish class in the ninth grade and were placed in an extra period of gym instead of being subjected to another foreign language class. Well, I only hand out my sliced rosemary parmesan baguette dipped in extra virgin olive oil to potential buyers. And, just based upon that plaid shirt of yours, I see no potential buyer in you.
I can't believe you came here. You haven't heard of Colton Andy Hersch, have you? You can't even name the latest Georgette Steinberg collage, I bet. I'm embarrassed that people like you even exist. What's your conception of art--the Chuckie Cheese logo?
Step right out this very second! Your K-mart boots are scuffing up my Danish floors. And I don't see scratched hardwood coming into vogue anytime soon.
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