sweasel.com

Neat!

Wow! That’s awesome work dude!

Very, very, very Cool…. Very.

Awwww…shucks, y’awl.

In the late seventies, I saw an exhibition that included stuff by these guys, which obviously stuck in my head.

I can’t find a reference for it, so I don’t know how I know this, but the eldest Martin brother died when he bumped his elbow on a kiln and the resulting blood clot broke loose and went to his heart. I think about that every time I bump my elbow.

And now you will, too.

Hey, that little egg cup sure looks interesting and so does the other stuff. looks professional! sure you are in the right profession? 🙂

My cousin-n-law bumped his knee and he thought the resulting swelling/fever was due to the bump aggravating his bursitis. He wound up in hospital for several weeks as the bump had invited a life-threatening staph infection. Nope, he didn’t break the skin.

Okay, that’s it. I’m permanently packing myself in nerf. 🙂

Kinky.

Kewl crockery, Weez. I tried sculpting once, but after I succeeded, after several days, in sculpting a 20-pound cube with my initials etched near the bottom, I realized the world was not ready for my genius, and moved on.

BTW: You must have already linked to this, but in case you haven’t, here’s the current Head of State of your soon-to-be homeland, having a snack.

Some day, a very long time in the future, I might forgive you for that, jw.

Eeww!

I coulda gone the rest of my life without seeing that particular British meal.

But the crockery is great. I want it.

Can we do that, McGoo? Just ask for things?
My grandmother was always writing our names on the bottom of junk so we knew who got it when she died. She was Jewish and I think she did it to guilt us, somehow. It didn’t matter anyway. My aunt got everything after she died.
But if we get to start writing our names on stuff…I get Charlotte and the Lady Chastity.

Come on! Don’t you realize how lucky you are?! How many people get to see the leader of one of the most powerful nations on earth pick his nose and eat it, not once, but several times in quick succession? That beats LBJ picking up his dog by the ears or ChimpyMcHitlerburton hawking a loogie all to hell.

Having viewed your art, written a small program to project who you were in a previous life and projected the migrations that your soul will make over the next five hundred and eleven transitions (I always use a nine bit computer for astral futurology) I’m pleased to announce that you will be Michelangelo twenty five lives from now.

Sure, Dawn! We can ask all we want – but I bet Weasel isn’t parting with these particular items. I wouldn’t if they were mine.

Besides, my real first initial just happens to be the same as his. No shit. It must be fate. I like that germanic-looking script.

..And it was rude and presumptious of me to demand them, but Weas knows I was joshin’. Right, Weas? Weas? Uh, Weas…?

Rats…

That nose munchy clip is still really bad. But I will readily grant its historical significance.

All I got to say is: Weez, if you ever meet Gordon Brown at all those state dinners you’ll be attending (as the Queen’s Artist Laureate), don’t shake hands.

Couldn’t watch the booger muncher. I still get queasy everytime I remember the two kids sitting across from me on a public bus, enjoying each other’s nose oysters.

Weasel, you are very talented. Since your beloved is whisking you away to a foreign land, you must demand to be ‘kept’ in order to further hone your skills into something lucrative. It is the least he/she/it can do.

I’m really digging that eggcup and creamer that ate a Warhead.

Steamboat ‘I coulda gone the rest of my life without seeing that particular British meal.’

Scottish, McGoo, Scottish. Apparently the English are spitting nails that Brown kinda inherited the job after Blair retired, without running for election where any Englishman could vote for him.

Funny old country…

Uncle-B,
Thanks for the correction. Yes, strange country, England (et al). I can’t quite believe Weasel would move there. Yeah, yeah, I know – he lived there when he was young before he got all old and decrepit and all that….but geez, they…they…eat boogers there! And mashed peas! And frittered party wangers (or whatever).

An’ I gotta second PandB’s comment about talent, Weas. Admittedly I know nothing about art, but I can tell when something took knowledge and skill and patience to create.

..And the desire! Ya gotta WANT to!

Don’t forget Mr Brain’s Frozen Pork Faggots, Steamboat. Gotta say, I believe I’d eat boogers before I’d even try one of those.

Maybe not on TV, though. I mean, It’s not like I’m Scottish (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

Yeah – it was those faggoty things I was thinkin’ of. And I don’t care if they’re pork or all-beef or veggie — I don’t want any.

You just know they’ll taste….queer.

And any booger-eating I do will be in the privacy of my own home, by God!

I’m with you, McGoo. Boogers are best in the privacy of one’s own home.

Let’s not forget spotted dick. That just occasions a visual so horrific that to actually eat same is beyond the pale.

No, lets DO forget them, Gnus. I’m gonna work extra hard to purge that phrase from my memory.

It’s not bad, actually. Traditionally, you eat spotted dick with condensed milk poured over it.

How’s the visual on that?

The problem with an informative web site like this one is that – occasionally – one is given more information than one can possibly desire or appreciate.

This is one of those moments.