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Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The Finalists

posted by on September 16 at 13:00 PM

It’s a time of awards, I tell you. Because I just got back from vacation and am late with everything, you probably already know this, but Seattle Art Museum last week announced its five finalists for this year’s $15,000 Betty Bowen Award: Wynne Greenwood, Nicholas Nyland, Eric Elliott, Isaac Layman, and Alexis Pike. (All but Pike, of Portland, are from Seattle.)

Guess which one I’m rooting for? You?

Oh, and while we’re at it, Stranger stories take comments now. (There’s a good argument here.) I want to hear some challenges to my Visual Art Genius Shortlist, which just came out last week: Susie Lee, Oscar and Eli, Gretchen Bennett, Jeffry Mitchell. Love them? Hate them?

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Special Story To Jen Graves:

Awards Finalists
The Man You Never Wanted

Imagine for a moment, your languid and relaxed sipping wine, mixed drinks and eye candy at the local year end review for the upper crust of the art scene.

Your favorite gallery, hair and scent, smokey musk.

All that body paint and sculpted thigh.

Mmmm.... life is good.

Entertained by your most hated columnists, critics and sly hangers-on.... you soak in the sweat later at the rave....

... then of course you stutter out of your fuzzy day dream and look at the interviewer in front of you as she looks quizzical... waiting for your response.

"Excuse me, could you repeat the question?"

Well that's how we should start, as I introduce you to The Man You Never Wanted.

His name is and has been changed to Ron for the sake of your fathers and your mothers...

because they are the ones who have tried to prevent you from meeting this man your whole life.

From now on, I am going to call him agent sex.

Agent sex is one filthy hard assed cut up flat stomach bulging muscled mother fucker.

He's the kind of guy a full on crip gave his keys to his booty trunk with a speaker box inside and a AK 47 and said watch my back if it starts going down.

That was after agent sex had strung up a chain gang of hand built bicycles to his bedpost so if it rattled he could stick his shotgun out the window as a persuasion device... and guess what the rattler heard...

the voice of the landlord tellin' the rat to remeber not to mess with hill billy bob shotgun cause he'd grease you on the spot.

This of course sounds highly suspect... so for the benefit of the mothers and fathers out there who are going to supeona the crime prevention task force for the neighborhood block watch programs and alert the Department of Corrections for their list of possible suspected felons... don't bother.

I got your back D.O.C., because I'll prove by the end of the business day that this portion of the story is purely for the beautiful talking heads on the

Major News Cable Shows and Private Satelite Channels under syndication and the press of course...

those lovely people who know the inside scoop and the fact that I will have visited the D.O.C. not once... but two times.

Also noted is the fact that there will be some graphic language and adult content themes here... so husbands, if your afraid that your wives or girlfriends may leave you for agent sex... just be reminded that they may in fact actually leave you for agent sex.

You see... agent sex is the kind of guy that women love to hate.

Case in point... the last time A.G. had pussy.

He said to me and I quote...

" The bitch came back and gave me her money... all of it."

Then she said something to the effect that she'd only suck his dick the next time because he absolutely wrecked her that night.

He fucked her until all she wanted to do was lay around and cook and feed him and didn't want to go back to her ... how should I say it...well, nevermind.

Ya... that's the kind of thing that will drive a jealous man to pull all kinds of cheap shit all over the city just to get a run away payback.

I personally saw this guy pull handfulls of stories out of his hyper over worked mind and rock hard torso.... and weapons and knives and partners and drugs and drugs and drugs and drugs and drugs and more drugs.

The funny thing is ... you can find this guy all over town.

He said to me and I quote...

" The first time I met you and you wouldn't give me the beer, I hated your guts."

We laughed and shook hands.

Then he tells me this story about how he saved his 18 year old sister from a crack dude on the corner and they never went back.

He walked right up to his sister and said what the fuck you doing out here with the crack dude and turned to the guy and kicked his black ass all over the street.

He loves him now... and reminds me every waking second how his 1/4 indian heritage and hard edged life has brought him the attitude he proudly carries with him and the fact that he doesn't care what the law or the cops do.

They're to busy chasing the real bad guys now...

Agent sex watches over the scene of the park on the weekend for the little things that blow up the family get togethers by dumb ass punks and stupid muther fuckers.

Take for instance.. the stupid muther fucker that pulled a knife on him recently because he admitted to slashing agent sexes bike tires... for a third time.


Even the dudes who do the sunday sword fighting came up to A.G. and broke it up by kicking the dumbass out of the park with a long blade.... dumbass has a little flip knife.


Shit.. I could go on and on about A.G. all night long... if only I had the mindset of a rape-o case like he talks about from the joint.

That's the place where the D.O.C. use to hire inside prisoners to watch some of the other prisoners with D.O.C. guns so if the D.O.C. had to kill someone, well... how should I say it.... an inmate did it.

A.G., he doesn't like rape-o's.

That may have something to do with the inside line of the D.O.C. numbers on your prison issues, and why A.G. is such a bad muther fucker himself.

I'm serious... this guy can make blow darts out of peace pipes and jump down the throat of a day full of beer cans and still kick your ass all over the street after midnight.

I know this for a fact, he almost broke my neck once... and then we ended as lovers.

Not the poofy faggot kind of lovers that upset word smiths and do-gooders on the polorized political sidelines and effeminate hard tack of sensualists...

but the kind of lovers biblical scholars call brothers.

He gave me a brass cherub.
Think about that for a moment.

He said I go for the Jesus thing his words spillimg from his mouth at light speed....

... and I tried to remind him it was more of a traveling Kung Fu thing with really big cherry bombs and lots of 35 year old virgins that didn't mind the shy types who dreamed of fucking like a mother fucker in the sanctity of their own rooms without someone listening in on a phone tap....

and he just screamed at me to not interrupt his train of thought cause then he'd forget what he was going to say...

I think you forget, dear reader what it feels like to be alive and that's why I bring this story to you...

Oh, not to Jen.. she definately knows what it feels like to be alive...

No I am talking to the ones who spend all that money on art and wine and food and legislation...

and then look from a distance and clean smelling room down upon the denziens of civilization on the violent like they should be instantly erradicated and wiped off the face of the earth.

Hey lady who watches from the google or cop camera maps on satelite patrol...

next time you zoom in on A.G. at the park from up on high and positively start creaming in your panties over his long hair and I'd kill anyone that raped my wife and daughter attitude...

come on down to the park and cook us up some burgers.

Think about what it would be like to have the lights go out for an extended period of time with no food or water and thugs and demons running around the street raping and murdering the innocent and who you'd want on your team to protect your ever-soft heart from the end of time...

Bring some beers and weed... lot's of weed... he mellows out when he smokes it and is a little bit more manageable.

Posted by danielbennettkieneker | September 16, 2008 2:37 PM

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