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Andrea "Ray" Boyle and John Graeter delivering the official Portland City Art (.org) concession speech.

Dear Artists, Art Patrons and Portland City Art supporters,

Goodfoot Bar in Turmoil!!!

Sources have confirmed that Jason Brown (Goodfoot bar operator, music and art venue coordinator) is set to receive emergency hair removal treatment at Legacy Emanuel Hospital in NE Portland this weekend for an ongoing problem he has had with tremendous uncontrollable facial hair growth.

According to friends and family Jason has been battling with this issue for several years now. Recently he sought treatment in North Korea with Doctor Hoo Long Wie where he was the subject of a new experimental ointment that was supposed to have reduced his hair length by almost half.  Instead, the not yet tested on humans ointment increased his beard length and turned the hair a deep red while also stimulating hair to grow out of every pore on his face.

Reporters caught up with Jason as he left the Legacy Health Center for his first exam and he had this to say.

“ARRAGHHH HUMMM HUMM SHHSHHHH HUMMM SHH HUMMM BEEERGGHHHHHH HHUMMM SHHH!”

What exactly he wanted to get out is not yet known, but we expect to hear from him again as doctors at Legacy have promised a full recovery with a clean bill of health. Portland artists, friends, and family are keeping Jason in their prayers tonight as they  all look forward to a new and more formidable man / curator after the surgery.

Portland Artists are in an UPROAR after a late night photographic unveiling of local artist John Graeter, aka the Man of Many Faces, and his alternate personas.

Several witnesses and Portland city officials were shocked when creative director for the well respected nonprofit organization Portland City Art (.org) was photographed in public with his alleged twin brother Twinky Simmins Graeter, a known fugitive and Anarchist of the Arts. Though John has been suspected for remaining in close contact with Twinky over the last few years no one in the art community has had solid evidence that the two were in cahoots until now.

What does this mean for Portland City Art, and the artists that it represents? The community website and resource arena was established to connect local creatives with arenas and audiences for their work in several venues within the Portland area, and the news that the newly christened figurehead is conspiring with Dirt Wing Extremists to undermine the efforts of his organization, and in fact, disconnect creatives and their audiences, has many reeling in disbelief.

Chris Haberman, former creative director and founder of Portland City Art (.org), was not available for questioning, but his sudden separation from the very organization he started has sparked rumors for weeks. When confronted with photographs and other proof of this deep rooted conspiracy, which may or may not extend all the way to City Hall, Portland City Art (.org) affiliated venues and their owners are beginning to question whether water is, in fact, wet. Artists stood by John, dismissing Chris Haberman’s choice to move on from the nonprofit as a personal one involving dysfunctional eating habits and questionable family distractions. According to local sources Chris was literally eating himself out of house and home, and food stamps, a steady welfare check, and a ring of midget “milk feeders”, was not enough to sustain his lifestyle, and well, it was time for this non-profiteer to focus on making some real money. Some “boo coo bucks”.

Charlie Alan Kraft, a once binding thread in the fabric of the Portland art scene, had this to say: “Man, I think I need a bra. These beers are weighing me down topside.”

John Graeter, a long time supporter of the arts and painter himself, was well known for cracking jokes after a few martinis about his uncanny resemblance to his brother while stroking his beard singing “I’m gonna grow this bitch ass hair, I’m gonna grow it, Boom! Boom! Boom! Curly, curly, cocoa mon.” John’s art touched many people here in Portland as well as….? Well, here in Portland, for sure. The Rose City’s art scene is literally torn in half today with one side mourning their betrayal at the hands of our city’s greatest scribbler (John Graeter likes to scribble), while another half clenches their ass cheeks in rage over the deceit and lies spread through this wonderful community. How that tears them in half, this writer has no idea. It actually sounds like they are on the same page, but that’s Portland for you.

Questions do remain, however, will Graeter continue to pursue art here in Portland? Will Twinky Graeter disappear again leaving us all in fear for our lives? Will John end his charade of lies and hang up his secret identities?  With all the secrets out, his “twin brother” Twinky, his well groomed man of daylight disguise Ships Donavon (who was recently found prowling local middle schools enlisting children for his art in residence programs), the entire cast of characters that can all be traced back to one megalomaniac man in the moon mirror, John Graeter, what will come of the artists that rely on his organization for strategic wall placement? Only time will tell. As more details come in, we here at Portland City Art (.com) are committed to bringing you the latest, the Graetest, and all the news in between. At least until the cease and desist letters from the Mayor’s bloodhounds actually hold up in court, or Chris Haberman finds a hitman in our fair city willing to work for Cheese Puffs to take us down. Until then, fair citizens, rest easy and keep your eye out for creepy bearded guys with glasses made to see right through you. It just might be John Graeter, aka The Real Life Riddler.

Toilets are a carefree bunch, most of the time. This one used to belong to Charlie Alan Kraft, and some other really fat guys who are not quite as fat as him. These dudes did some serious crapping on DT, which caused it to develop a very negative attitude towards people crapping on things.

The people, and entities which compromise PCA, the supposed non-profit linked to numerous sex scandals and video-tape-hijacking, have been drizzling hot steamy shit down my porcelain mouth for long enough. I’m not willing to sit through even one more second of the barrel-waisted tyrants of Portland City Art squatting down over me popping shit flavored candy corn and telling me that it’s better for my teeth that way (cause I won’t want to eat the candy if it tastes like shit).

Knuckle-fucks.

That’s what they are. Hairy knuckle-fucks. Never had to support such sheer weight from creamy, sweaty man-thighs before, and if you turn your back for one secone, guess what? Let’s just say that your plumbing gets a case of “illegal entry”. Shot out to Crispy Butt for having sweaty enough boobs to make the whole thing go down with plenty of lube. Double shot out to Jonny G-G-Time Je-Yell-Ell-oh (jon graeter) for having a tiny penis thing that doesn’t hurt much when it goes in. Fluffy. Still…

STOP PUTTING THINGS INSIDE ME!

Seriously, people, when nobody is not around, these guys are inside me, constantly, touching each other, touching me on the inside. No gloves. Filthy, putrid. Thank god my bowl is painted white so you don’t see the jizz so much.

Disgruntled
Toilet

Salvia Darling is a 70's news anchor turned heart-throb turned investigative reporter turned... Well, let's just say that now his job is to bring you the late breaking stories in the world of art in Portland.

THIS JUST IN! Portland curators have plenty of art to choose from. In the wake of our great nation’s economic [censored by Salvia], more and more people have turned to their creative talents (or lack-there-of) looking to make a buck. The market in Portland has become so [censored by Salvia] with artists and their wares, [censored by Salvia] such as Ben Pink have turned to unconventional methods to select their [censored by Salvia] artists. An anonymous curator had this to say: “I tend to make my decision based on how well I know the artist in question. If I never met them, that’s a definite no. If we are good friends, that’s a definite maybe. Anyone in between, well, that just has to do with how well they [censored by Salvia].” Then he rode off into the sunset wearing his pink unitard on his pink unicycle.

THIS JUST IN! Rain in the forecast for Portland. Several [censored by Salvia] artists were caught unprepared for the unexpected change in weather over the weekend. Artist Jon Graeter was particularly pissed off after water fell onto the [censored by Salvia] that he was in the middle of stenciling a [censored by Salvia] pattern onto. No amount of [censored by Salvia] corrugated cardboard and shopping cart parts could [censored by Salvia] his [censored by Salvia] masterpiece. “My [censored by Salvia] are ruined! What is this, fucking Waterworld? Do I have gills?” Well, Jon, if track marks also allow you to breathe underwater, then yes, you have gills.

THIS JUST IN! Gay mayor is into decorative art. In a shocking development, [censored by Salvia] mayor Sam [censored by Salvia] has declared himself to be “a fan of art and artists, especially those that decorate”. He was even spotted during [censored by Salvia] period making out with a high school senior whose call to art is creating sculptures from orally polished doorknobs. Perhaps the most influential gay man of our time, [censored by Salvia], gave me his thoughts on this hot topic, and the [censored by Salvia] had this to say: “What a fucking pussy!”

THIS JUST IN! Charlie Alan Kraft took a shower. In preparation for the upcoming holidays, the Kraft family (which consists of [censored by Salvia], a dirty sock, and Mayor McCheese) has decided to finally let Portland artist Charlie Alan Kraft eat at the Big Kid’s Table (BKT). Kraft has been waiting on the BKT list for over 15 years now–since his 18th birthday–due to concerns about Charlie’s [censored by Salvia] hygiene habits. Last week, however, in a [censored by Salvia] haze, Charlie Alan Kraft [censored by Salvia] and fell into the shower, bumped his [censored by Salvia] on the water controls, and was [censored by Salvia] touched by water. A still unidentified [censored by Salvia] ran into the room and accosted him with soap and [censored by Salvia] before Kraft was able to regain his [censored by Salvia]. The dirty sock had this to say: “I think it’s great that he showered and everything, but as far as I’m concerned, Thanksgiving is [censored by Salvia].”

You might think this is Ben Pink, but he actually has amazing balance and would never fall off his unicycle!

In what can only be described as a STUNNING COINCIDENCE, Ben Pink no longer owes me money. Shortly after I ran the original article Ben Pink OWES ME MONEY, the man himself got in touch with me.

“I will be at the gallery Thursday, and will have a check for you then.”

Give it a minute to sink in… Ben Pink… the same guy I told you was harder to squeeze than a gorilla… owner/operator of Launchpad Gallery (new work by emerging artists, like Chris Haberman)… offering to part with his dear, beloved money. My heart actually stopped beating for a minute or two. Read it again: “…have a check for you…”

What the fuck?

So Thursday finally came, and even though it was clearly some kind of setup, I couldn’t resist. On the way over to  Launchpad I came across an angry little 8-year-old that was mercilessly taunting the elderly.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Today’s Thursday, dumbshit.”

Something occurred to me… Ben Pink and his minions would be far less likely to kidnap and torture me if I was with a little kid. “Hey, you seem like a nice kid. I’ll buy you a Mountain Dew if you come somewhere with me and pretend to be my nephew.” He agreed (obviously! all kids love Mountain Dew), but insisted on payment up-front. So we walked to the store first, then over to the gallery.

Just outside the door to Launchpad, several rough looking types were betting on what appeared to be a kitten fight. One of them looked up at me and frowned. “You were supposed to come alone,” he said quietly like Edward James Olmos. He looked us up and down a few times, and after about five minutes he ushered us over to a blood-stained side door. There was a little pink bucket full of what looked like spare kitty parts next to it. A bird was perched above on the gutter, licking its beak. I started to think that maybe showing up had been a not-so-good idea, in particular bringing the kid with me, but before I could make a run for it the door slid open.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. Ben Pink himself was sitting there on the toilet taking a shit COMPLETELY NAKED. He looked up with an amazingly wide grin.

“So glad you could make it!” he chirped. “I see you brought a little friend, I love kids! Come here little guy!”

The kid took off.

Ben: “Oh how adorable!”

Me: “So… well… about that check…”

Ben: “Nonsense, my friend! Checks are for disabled people in wheelchairs, how do you feel about cash?”

Me: “Well… whatever’s easiest…”

He reached down to the pants that were rumpled on the floor next to him and pulled out an immaculate velcro wallet. It was black. “Almost there!” He opened the wallet and smelled the inside. “I love it!” He got up and started doing what I’m guessing he might call his money dance. Completely naked.

Me: “So… uhm…”

Ben: “Where are my manners, I forgot you were even there!”

Me: “No problem…”

Ben: “Thanks for waiting!”

Me: “Sure… uhm…”

Ben: “Say the magic word!”

Me: “…”

Ben: “Come on, say it! I love the magic word!”

Me: “Please?”

Ben: “No, the MAGIC word!”

Me: “Pay me?”

Ben: “That’s two words, you big dork! Come on, think MAGIC!”

Me: “Abracadabra?”

As soon as I said it, the wallet disappeared in a small poof of smoke. Ben Pink began hopping and clapping his hands together. “Check your pockets! Check your pockets!” His excitement was scaring me, so I reached in and checked my pockets. Nothing. Just the crap I had when I showed up. I kept digging around, thinking maybe I missed something. Nope.

Me: “Ben… I don’t think the trick worked.”

Ben: “Nonsense!”

Me: “I mean, it was cool how the wallet disappeared, but…”

Ben: “Check your pockets again!”

I checked my pockets again. Nothing.

Ben: “Check your pockets again!”

Me: “Look, man…”

Ben: “Check your pockets again! Pleeease!”

I checked them again. Still empty.

After about the tenth round of the check your pockets game, I decided that no amount of money was worth all of this, so I just said fuck it and started to walk off. Ben Pink ran up behind me (still completely naked) and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Dude, you forgot your money.” His other hand was extended, and was holding a small roll of bills. He was calm all the sudden. “Sorry for putting you through all that just now… You have to admit it was pretty funny, though.” All I could see was the money in his hand. “We’ll should do this again sometime, what do you say?”

“Sure man…” I reached out to grab the money, but before I could get my fingers on it something hit me hard on the back of the head and everything went dark…

TO BE CONTINUED

Until next time,
Bad Habits

Ben Pink loves riding around Portland on his ultra-economical scooter cause he's always so broke from running his super-cost-effective gallery. That's not actually him, but believe me, it's close enough.

Now I’m not one to point the finger, but Ben Pink (aka Ben Pinkowitz), of Portland’s Launchpad Gallery, is a cheap ass dodgy bastard when it comes to paying for artwork. Not only will he try to pay you as little as possible (since he’s a starving gallery owner), but when he does pay you, it will never be the entire amount. He’ll just give you whatever loose bill happens to be in his pocket. Then he’ll cry to his friends about how they’ll have to buy him drinks cause some mean Portland artist insisted on being paid for their artwork. “Oh, poor, poor me,” he will cry. “I just can’t make ends meat running a gallery in Portland. I am so broke… sob.”

Ben Pink will have you believe that it is YOUR responsibility to make sure he pays you. Chase him down endlessly until somehow you manage to run into him. Then you gotta back him into a corner, after which you must find someone that can lift him up by his feet and shake him up-and-down until whatever scraps he hasn’t palmed away in his greasy little hands drops to the floor. Then he will say, “We’re even now?”

“No, you still owe me.”

“Oh, ok! Glad you’re keeping track, cause I’m not!” Why would Ben Pink keep track of how much money he owes you? It’s all up to you, the artist who should feel grateful that Ben Pink was pleased by your work enough to not pay for it.

Ben Pink… I attended his Love Show back in March, knowing that he would be there, still owing me money. I finally found him over by the kegs directing beer traffic. When I asked Mr. Cheapskate, “Hey, how about buying me a beer?” do you know what he said?

“THREE DOLLARS.”

Be safe,
Bad Habits