Cervine roadkill, stuffed in an empty aquarium atop a metal stand in a long, empty gallery.
Cue strobe lights.
Cue live punk band.
Artist, take a bow at your cultivated sense of taste and aesthetic of the absurd. Everything’s a metaphor, right? Is this what Dad’s tuition money is going toward? Bet you’ve shown him.
The foetid stench and the rapid flickering of lights are disorienting the bass player.
Cue today’s lunch.
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