Marian Adcock was once married to Tan Peluski. Amazingly, she is not only still alive to tell the tale, she also wants to. Hard to believe isn't it?

After I finally kicked my meth habit and divorced that ratfuck, Tan Peluski, a lot of ladies have been coming on to me in the check out line at the cigarette outlet store. Don’t get me wrong, I love tuna as much as the next bitch, but I’m not prepared to go chick’n of the sea for good, if you know what I’m sayin’. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. Every time I’ve let a liquored up sailor poke me in the nether regions with a half-wood, I’ve pondered what it would be like to dine on nothing but fuzzy pink tacos for the rest of my life. I could do it. I really could. Only these five factors are in between me and life of fisting happily ever after.

1. Intelligence, or actually, the lack of it. I like to fuck stupid people. Let’s just say, I sure as hell don’t want to fuck somebody smarter than me. What’s the fun in that? Stupid people are more easily manipulated and misled. I like that in a person. Now, I hate to stereotype, but let’s be honest, if you’re goal is to nail something stupid and gullible, you want something with a dick.
2. Looks. I like to fuck somebody uglier than myself. Now, again, I’ve seen some dykes out there that would give my grandpa a run for his money in a Wilford Brimley look-alike contest, so you know, just cause you have a dick doesn’t mean you’ve seen the fat end of the ugly stick. But it helps. Between the back hair, the nose hair, the ear hair and the fact that grooming yourself makes you appear gay, the odds are stacked against dudes in the looks department. Ladies are all, “does my butt look big in these jeans?” And guys are like, “I switched to suspenders so my gut could hang free.” Ladies wear makeup, perfume, heels and all manner of frocks while men just prefer to stay ugly, stinky and plain. For a woman as haggard and used up as myself, this is a definite perk. Next to most of the troglodytes I date, I shine like the Hope Diamond under track lights. Sparkly.
3. Needs. Women have them in abundance. They need love, humor and understanding. They need romance and long walks on the beach. They need communication. They need affirmation. They need shopping trips and back rubs. Well I ain’t got time for all that shit. A man’s got one need and as long as I take care of it with one of my many orifices (or my hand if I’ve feeling fucking lazy or got a genital wart flare up), he’s fucking happy as shit. Men are the hamburger helper of relationships, you just add what you already had laying around.
4. Dicks vs. clits. Let’s say you got one of them fancy new video games and you have your choice of controller. Would you want the one that fit perfectly in your hand, or would you want the one the size of a grain of rice? Yeah. Me too.
5. Vaginas. Now again, don’t get me wrong here. Approximately 28 days out of every month, a vagina is a lovely soft, frilly little flower. But the other 3-5 days? A total fucking horror show. I know because I have one. It’s not just the blood people, but the blood in and of itself is enough to give a person pause. I mean really? If a man bled out of his dick every month I would have to think long and hard before I put it near my face, let alone in my mouth. But damn, it’s all the other crazy stuff that comes out of there. Chunky stuff. Gooey stuff. At least when you swallow a dude’s load you can position it at the back of the throat, but with a lady you’re just wallowing in it for God knows how long (see #3 and #4). No thank you, ma’am.

So, sorry lady with the amazing gray mullet from the cigarette outlet, but Marian Adcock is going to stick to cock and balls from here on out because she prefers to date stupid, ugly simpletons who tend to keep their blood inside the body.

Join Merle the Magnificent as he poofs his way through the hearts of whiny Portland artists. With magic!

Poof! Oh hey, hope I didn’t just scare you appearing out of a sudden cloud of smoke like I just did. I’d say it won’t happen again, but that would be a lie. Here, watch… I won’t surprise you again. Poof! Now I’m gone! Poof! Now I’m back! See, I can’t help myself. Forget that, though, I came to do a magic trick. Who’s ready???

Life is going good… Poof! Not any more! Your job…. Poof! GONE! Your savings account…. Poof! ZERO! Borrowing money from your family to file bankruptcy… .Poof! Not this time! Your wife….. Poof! Sleeping with your OLD BOSS! Your self respect…. Poof! ____ in 60 Seconds! Your ability to sleep at night… Poof! Gone! Friends buying you drinks… Poof! Support your own habit, you bum! Bus fare to get home… Poof! Spent it  all on beef jerky! Too tired to walk…. Poof! Free ride to the drunk tank! Wake up the next morning… Poof! Begging for change downtown! Looking for someone to blame… Gathering with a large group of others that have been similarly victimized…. Feeling not alone for the first time in months… Finally going to do something… Not gonna leave until the system changes… All for one and one for all… After the first day of protesting, you wake up on a blanket someone let you use and…. POOF! POOF! PU-PU-PU-POOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFF!!!!! EVERYONE IS GONE! They all went home to play tennis on their televisions, to watch Dexter, and to upload photos of themselves protesting onto Facebook! The cause? Poof! GONE!

GREAT JOB PORTLAND!!!!!!

Hippie Jesus has been a raw, macrobiotic vegan since before he was born.

In the world of animal rights, no organization has done more for the plight of non-human animals than C.O.C.K. (Compassion Over Cruelty and Killing). As the world’s most perfect and pure vegan, I only support non-profit organizations whose message is for animal rights not animal welfare. If you don’t know the difference, then you’re probably the type of asshole who puts bacon on a veggie burger. The good people at C.O.C.K. know the difference. They know that farm animals are just hairy people who can’t talk or open a door. They know that in the peaceful world of nature an animal should never be food for another animal. It’s about rights people! Rights for all living, breathing creatures that don’t make their own food through photosynthesis. I mean, fuck, it’s not that hard to understand!

So when I heard that my old friend John Graeter is opening a new gallery this First Thursday, I knew this was the perfect opportunity to merge my dual loves of animal rights and Portland art. I will have my 100% vegan mandalas for sale tomorrow at Graeter Art Gallery (G.A.G.) and all of my profits from Thursday’s sales will go to C.O.C.K.’s campaign to end the senseless cruelty of chicken choking. I mean, even disgusting dairy eating vegetarians and the brutal Nazi’s who call themselves “omnivores” can all agree that choking chickens is sick and wrong.

So please come down to G.A.G. and buy one of my vegan mandalas in support of C.O.C.K’s efforts to end chicken choking for good. Thanks to John Graeter and his C.O.C.K. support, we may soon see the end of chicken choking.

G.A.G. Opening
October 6, 2011 from 5pm – 10pm
131 NW 2nd Ave,
Portland, OR, 97209

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.

Legendary Portland artist Jesse Reno joins Salvia Darling to discuss the tragic events that led to third degree burns and thousands of dollars of property damage, as well as his feelings on fire, rocks, and aluminum cans. Reno’s artwork will be on display at The Goodfoot throughout the month of July 2011.

Local activist and Lesbian swinger Orin Starr leading a group of anti-rude bingo night protesters outside of "The Nest" a bar in Portland, Oregon

When most people think of bars in Portland Oregon good times and good beer come to mind. Even The Nest, Alberta street’s hot-spot for local well dressed liberals such as Orin Starr has been known for it’s comfortable atmosphere, cheap beer, and loud music set against a backdrop of fine rotating artwork curated by local celebrity Chris Haberman. What happens, though, when a local hangout, once a meeting point for well-cologned, high-class hipsters goes south? It becomes a Mecca for disgusting, disturbing, delusional,  racist, sexist, classist and homophobic outcries of slander and distaste masked by the power of the First Amendment.

On Sunday May 8th, 2011 Orin Starr entered The Nest like he does every other day of the week, hopped up on anti-depressents and exhausted after a long hard day of customer service at a local Co-Op. What did he want? He wanted what every other person in the bar wanted that night: a beer and an atmosphere that allowed him the opportunity to peep some fresh female clam as they say. What did he get, you ask? A first hand lesson in freedom of speech! Quietly enjoying his drink, Orin and his wingman for the night couldn’t help but notice it was Bingo Night, but what they failed to recognize was the well-posted and immediately visible signs stating “Sunday night at The Nest is we get to say what ever the fuck we want bingo night”. That’s right, readers, it was Rude Bingo Night.

After listening to the guy at the microphone berate gentle folks waiting for the bathroom with malicious slanderous comments, Orin turned to his wingman (a person who intelligently chooses to remain anonymous) and says, “Fuck this piece of shit with his whole I have a beard and balls attitude, I’m gonna fuck his shit up!” Orin’s wingman, Christianly as a kitten’s vagina, chose to turn the other cheek and ignore the barrage of bingo inspired insults, and quietly sipped his or her beer. Orin, however, could not just sit by while the ears of decent folks everywhere were subjected to  such harsh and vile abuse, and cried out, “Hey dumb fuckin’ dick for brains! This is Portland! We don’t hurt people’s feelings here you fucking piece of shit!”

Unfortunately Orin had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Being that he had completely ignored the well-posted signs describing the event of the evening in clear and vivid detail, the man-bear at the microphone took this as someone wanting to play along with the evening’s festivities, and really gave Orin a piece of his mind…. (Here at PortlandCityArt.com we strive ourselves to bring you up to date slanderous bullshit without censorship ,but the words exchanged in that moment at the bar were so degrading and shameful that even WE couldn’t stomach printing them in this article…….) Once the extended exchange of poetic hate had come down from its’ inevitable climax, Orin turned to the bartender to complain. The bartender ,though, had only this to say: “Bitch, put a dick in it!”

Disgusted by the entire situation and distraught by the not so sensitive energy at the bar, Orin fell victim to the violence and unleashed a flurry of ice cubes in the direction of Mr. Rude Bingo. A fist fight soon broke out, bottles were smashed, Starr’s friend was dragged from the bar by his or her front-facing ponytail and Orin, well… he was later found bloodied and hunching over in the alley like a lump of used dog shit (as opposed to brand new dog shit, straight from the ass).

Customers at the bar refused to comment on the situation, and even Portland’s finest were not able to get a statement regarding the scene of events that unfolded that evening. Was Orin Starr an unsuspecting victim of a hate crime or just a mild mannered customer pushed to the edge of violent rage by a tasteless lower then human life form holding the mic that night? Is this what our fair city is coming to? Bars that once housed the meek and sensitive now playgrounds for dirty mouthed trash talkers with a taste for violence against she-men? Is the first amendment really that important? Did Portland lose its sense of humor? Did it ever HAVE a sense of humor? Whatever the reason, whatever the justification, Portland has failed in the eyes of its’ citizens, and The Nest is the thorn that continues to break the CIty of Rose’s back.

The new sheriff in town: Howard Crosby and fellow volunteers from the vigilante group Portland Citizens for a Cleaner Craigslist keeping a watchful eye on the website to keep it free of offensive material.

In 1995, Craig Newmark founded the classified website Craigslist with the best of intentions: to provide a safe haven for good natured Christians to exchange goods and services, arrange to meet on wholesome dates, and to announce family friendly community events. Like all righteous internet endeavors, however, it was overrun by the forces of Satan before you could say “Christ on the Cross”. As Newmark himself puts it, “One thing we found doing customer service is that there are not that many bad guys out there, that the people with good will far outnumber the bad guys. However, the bad guys make a lot more noise.”

Fundametalist Christian bad-boy Robert Brian Henry, armed with his Two Fists of Faith, brings to light the evils and immoralities that have taken over the Portland Art Scene.

In most cities featured on Craigslist, the good guys have all but given up. That is not the case in Portland, however, where a volunteer watchdog group called Portland Citizens for a Cleaner Craigslist (PCCC) burst onto the scene bringing order and respectability to a website where even I with my Two Fists of Faith once feared to tread.

Formed in early March of this year by local artist Tanner Dobson, the PCCC has found a brilliantly simple way to use Craigslist’s built-in flagging feature to eradicate any and all filth immediately. “People in Portland aren’t going to stand around getting fucked in the mouth by indecency towards anyone or anything, and Craigslist is no exception. Free speech is one thing, but my grandmother, bless her heart, busted her ass for eighty fucking years, raised over three hundred kids into model, upstanding Christians, and I’ll sit naked on Satan’s fat red cock before I’ll let anyone bombard her computer screen with blasphemous ass, mean-spirited, liberal, communist, hate-mongering, ironic bullshit on Craigslist which she visits every day to sell her macaroni mosaics.”

Acting on a hunch, Dobson discovered that if a post got a certain number of “flags” from different people, it would be taken down from the  website immediately. Once he had the magic number, he took a trip down to his dear nana’s nursing home and recruited a small army of volunteers. “My volunteers were people just sitting around waiting to die, despite the fact that their facility is equipped with an activity room. When I had my grandmother read to them excerpts from some of the posts she had come across, dude, they were fucking pissed!”

For volunteer Howard Crosby, the PCCC has given him new meaning in life. “In my day, you’d get the belt for acting all filthy like these young people and their computers. I lost all hope once my grandson was taken by the homosexuals because of the internet, but thanks to Tanner Dobson I now have a way to fight back. I might not be able to give these kids the whupping they deserve, but I can sure as shit keep them from spreading their filth!”

Dobson elaborates, “You see, what happens is these cock-sucking degenerates get on a computer at the library or some trendy coffee shop so you can’t track them, and because of this anonymity they feel comfortable enough to put up bunch of hateful, ugly, rotten garbage unfit for decent folks to see or read. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit they were getting away with before I started PCCC. Once I knew exactly how many times a post could get flagged before coming down, though, that was all she wrote. They are free to put up whatever they want, whenever they want, and in the same vein,  all thanks to the Lord Jesus Christ, we are free to take it down whenever we want. BAM! BAM! Down just like that.”

During my visit to the retirement facility which serves as the group’s temporary headquarters, I was able to witness several flaggings firsthand. In one instance, some smirking heathen tried to advertise her demonic face painting service, and had the audacity to target it at children! Like clockwork, the team sprang into action and took turns flagging the post until it was gone. Someone else tried several times to post results of their highly offensive drawing contest, but each time it was shot down in less time than it takes me to crack the knuckles on my Two Fists of Fury.

“These old people might not know a computer keyboard from Stephen Baldwin, but if you move the mouse for them and show them how and when to press the button, they get the hang of it pretty quick.” Dobson has every right to be proud of his group. Since they started monitoring up the classifieds, the life expectancy of an offensive post on Portland’s Craigslist has fallen to an average of 32 seconds. “I won’t be satisfied until that number is reduced to zero, to tell you the truth, but 30 seconds is pretty fucking good.” Is it safe enough for children? “You fucking bet, man.”

Next time you find yourself looking to Craigslist for an artist to decorate the kid’s play room, a flower arranger, pottery lessons, or even a tasteful live model, remember to take a moment out of your search to thank Tanner Dobson, his hard working, tireless band of upstanding seniors, and the loving spirit of Portland for keeping things free of bigotry, idolatry, hate, profanity, nudity, sarcasm, slander, and sin, and for making the City of Rose’s Craigslist a place that even our dear Lord Baby Jesus could visit with a smile.

Don’t forget to follow on Facebook > Brief Space

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

Dear Artists, Art Patrons and Portland City Art supporters,

Local Portland artist Matthew Haggett… or is it Haggerty?… What was I saying? Oh right, Matthew Haggett has mutant babies! His mutant children were found nestled together with their siblings in a box found on the corner of North Williams and Prescott street in NE Portland.

Witnesses found the box early Sunday morning covered tightly with a thick wool blanket. One witness heard yelping and tiny voices pleading for help and as they lifted the blanket they were astonished with what they found.

Local authorities were called to the scene after several 911 phone calls regarding abandoned children. At first nobody had any idea where the freak babies came from, but according to experts, evidence suggested that their beards were very recently manicured. “Haggerty, famous for his obsessive compulsive meticulous beard trimming, not to mention his romantic flings with non-humans, is the obvious suspect. Once we were able to get a match on his DNA and some fibers left in the babies’ beards, we had our man.”

Haggett was unavailable for comment, but if we could ask him one question it would be this: Matthew, why didn’t you just leave them at a hospital or fire station??? Perhaps we will never know.

Send your child’s essays to john@portlandcityart.com for automatic entry into our next contest.

Totally hetero WWE Champion and movie star John Cena (right) with his pal Marc.

"Kui Fucker", the winner of our Junior Essay Contest, is a 9-year old Portland area grade school student who enjoys painting slugs with colorful smoke bombs in his free time.

John Cena. Not Gay.

I don’t think John Cena is gay because he does not bear hug his opponents in the ring. He just kicks ass.

Another important reason I don’t think he is gay. I watched a behind the scenes sneak peek when he asked one of the Divas to go on a date with him.

I would also like to put out there that my gaydar does not tell me he is gay.

To me John Cena looks like a Greek God, not a gay monster. I think if he were gay, he would probably have picked a more gentle sport than wrestling.

by “Kui Fucker”