Et Tu, Che? -or- Painted Ground Contest
As you all know, we here at the Painted Ground are smitten by the smitten-ness of the youths with the beloved commie icon above. So, of course, we were tickled to come upon this on our morning meanderings today. The contest is as follows:
Does your photo belong there? If so, why? Does your ass burn that brightly?
Does someone else's? Chan Marshall? Marshall Mathers? Carl Weathers? Tookie Williams? If so, why?
Won't this be fun?!? It will, we decree it. We also declare that the prize will be hella wicked. Enter early, enter often, pithy rules the day.
PS - I don't know if anyone else noticed, but Jim is on fire. Go Hanasiana.
3 comments:
A meta-entry. Below is a comment on the work, the author of which is my candidate for Your Face Here. To get to it:
You know, it's the old glass box at the—
At the gas station,
Where you're using those little things
Trying to pick up the prize,
And you can't find it.
It's—
And it's all these arms are going down in there,
And so you keep dropping it
And picking it up again and moving it,
But—
-D.H. Rumsfeld
pw/sf/pa
Shame precludes the son of Gustav and Aurelia Schwarzenegger from ever showing his face around here. Shame.
I'll tell you what makes that damn sun shine so bright, and what gives me comfort in the dead of the night. It's the laughter of children, and their smiling faces. The cute ones with new clothes, and the ugly ones with old braces. It's the possibility that any of them can grow up and be president, and I'm pulling this answer out of my ass. But that's rather self-evident.
Dude, I have no friggin' idea.
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