How to Use Traffic Lights and Other Stories

I trust you all have mastered the art of supermarket shopping by now. It's very difficult, of course, and some of the slower (and more inbred) of you may still be struggling with the finer aspects- using a credit card is particularly bothersome. As a reminder, you use a credit card by passing it through a small slit on a machine with numbers. If you have enough "money" on your "card", one will be able to press "OK" and purchase what one wants.

Anyway. I wanted to talk about a couple of other things today. First of all, appreciation of photography. Many of you have been writing me letters telling me how much of an artist Terry Richardson is, and what a swell fellow he is, really. It's often the practice of the rich to determine the tastes of the rest of the world in art. The Medici's were particularly good at this. We now have people like that advertising fellow- the one who was married to Nigella Lawson (the food pornography actress). Saatchi. There's also that awful investment banker- the one who bought Damien's shark. What an investment banker knows about art, well, I don't know- the general consensus is that money equals art, and the more money something costs, the more art it is. Here's a system for you to use, which is what all the big art buyers use. It is called "Is it Art (By Awful Investment Bankers International)". If something costs between $50,000 to $100,000 it is minor art. The leeches- I mean, the art dealers, will term it "work by an interesting up and comer". If something is between $100,000 to $250,000, it is major minor art, to which the art dealers will declare "A very strong work by an unappreciated artist". And on it goes, until we get until the millions, where the work will be undoubtedly a Work of Genius. 

This is all very well and good, except that from you newly bourgeois, formerly wealthy people to whom I'm addressing this post don't have millions to spend on Art with a capital A anymore. Meaning, by your system, you can't declare Terry Richardson's work art. It never was art anyway, you dull-witted Armani-suit-wearing morons. What is it? Well, it's misogynist porn that doesn't turn me on. Do you know what turns me on, hm? Dishwashers. I love the sound they make as they churn around and around. But that's not the point- my point is that Richardson's work is half the problem, because it's inherently misogynist, made by a creep who enjoys taking photographs of women on the toilet. It's an absolute indictment upon the fashion industry that magazines like Vice, Vogue, Purple, etc continue to publish this predator's work. Here's Vice magazine proving it's run by people who probably make rape jokes all day long and have the taste of a insurance salesman turned tax collector turned realtor who has been doused in the sweat produced by executives rubbing their hands together in glee as they go to murder a batch of kittens. My Coco, haven't you done well, Vice. (Also, here I'll point out that Vice published an interview with me a couple of months ago by a sycophantic...creature who asked incredibly boring questions).

What I am doing is giving a good spanking to all those in the fashion industry who have encouraged this charlatan and given him work. How pro-women of you, hm? How responsible of you, placing Mr. Richardson in power, hm? And that's not to mention the photographers "inspired" by him. How original- having a penis in a woman's mouth, no? That hasn't been done before!

In case you didn't read the above because you're illiterate and only read twitter: If you support Terry Richardson, you are anti-women. If you publish his work, you are anti-women. If you think him using his position of power to rape women is chic, you are anti-women. For an industry that makes an awful lot of money from women, it's not exactly a profitable stance, hmm?

That is the first thing I wanted to talk to you about. Secondly, I would like to give you a guide on how to use traffic lights, as you'll surely encounter these when you attempt "walking".

Now, "walking" is support the ordinary prole participates in daily, often with other proles. They do this on "streets". A street is a place which has buildings and a road. You will be familiar with these, as you probably had to climb out of your luxury automobiles and cross a "street" in order to get to the Chanel store, or something similar. (Of course, you won't be going into Chanel stores anymore, but you needn't worry for me. We have plenty more clients where you came from.) A traffic light governs the space between the cars and the people. They are very tall and have three lights on them. The colours are yellow, green and red. Yellow is a useless light and nobody knows what it means, so it's best to ignore that light if you see it. If you see green you can walk across the road. All the cars will stop and if they keep going you will be okay, because the green light will protect you (or so I'm informed). If it is red, you must wait for it to go green, because crossing the "street" on a red light will result in immediate vaporization.

Finally, to use a traffic light one must press a large metal button. This "activates" the traffic light and it knows you are alive and so on. The large metal button is the most important part, because if you don't press that the traffic light will never know you are there. 

Once the traffic light turns green, do the "walking" we have practiced and you will get to the other side. There is an old German joke that my nanny used to tell me:

Q: Why did the formerly rich bourgeois person cross the road?

A: Because TIME magazine did an article on it, and the New Yorker also did an article on it, and their neighbors were doing it, so they wanted to see what it was all about and they heard it'd won an Oscar too...and one of those Nobel prizes, whatever they are. It seemed pretty reputable and they have a greatest hits album coming out.