Ugh I hate creative people, they make me wanna vom. Y’know? Can’t a bar leave a few flyers for our sacred BOGOF BURGER Tuesdays on tables without fear of highly creative individuals coming along and treating the whole world as their canvas? I wish I could bottle your spirit and sell it because that would be such a unique and captivating fragrance. You turned my flyers inside out and to be honest, I couldn’t even make myself mad. I wanted to be fuming. I wanted to be on my back kicking like a baby. I wanted to be seeing your imagined face on a punchbag in the imaginary boxing gym I go to every night. Why can’t I be you? I want to be you, mystery co-opter. Such juxtaposition (I know rite) popping those torn flyer tiles on THAT particularly gorgey hand painted table. You knew what you were doing. I bet you even sat there on purpose. I bet you do everything on purpose.

I want to hold you, monster. Let us assess your visions…

New mission in life: find out who the Bogo Bogo Bros are. What did they do to you, artist? I will avenge your presumed jilting by the Bogo Bogo Bros. But perhaps that’s what makes you you. Pleasure is pain. Never lose your edge, artist. Perhaps the Bogo Bogo Bros complete you.

Bogo Bogo is back. But this time Bros-less. What can it mean? So succinct. Facebook is for buggers, I agree. But buggers of bogo bogo? Hmm. That’s a chin scratcher. So many equations being wrought on my whiteboard right now. Always leave them wanting more, artist. You clever, clever (wo)man.


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