Wednesday, August 25, 2004


Thomas Kinkade is an agent of Satan. No doubt about it.

I just can’t cope with how all of these fuckin’ no taste morons can pony up the ducats, year after year, to acquire this festering stinkpile of mass produced bric-a-brac disguised as art and proudly displaying them in the parlor or in the dinette of the double-wide or whatever, like they just scored a rare Monet or some shit. Kinkade is the equivalent to the major record label music machine: slapdash casual innocuous crap tailored to appeal to people with no personality to speak of that could be reasonably detected, peddled ad nauseam to the tune of a cash register chime in the zillion millions. The muthaphuker doesn’t even paint most of his own shit anymore. I mean, selling prints and lithos of your work is one thing, but having people in a fuckin’ factory paint in between the lines and then selling it like it’s your own work? What the fuck is that? Was even Warhol that sleazy? Well, yeah, maybe to a point but not THIS sleazy. How can all these suckers let themselves get jerked like this?

And now Kinkade wants to build a bunch of housing developments. He has this vision of every single thing in your home being something Kinkade. Which transcends merely artistic vision or even old fashioned corporate greed. No, this goes into the territory of creepy personal control through culture. Play ye not God. May this capitalist asshole fall out of fashion and go belly up. Soon.

Some examples of Kinkade's shitty art