All-Time Favorite Foods

Dudes, I am seriously huge. Check out them titties. You know you like them. Glowing orbs of hot man flabber. Don’t stand too close, unless you want to have an orgasm. Shit, crowds of people part like the Red Sea when I pass. I am a fucking stallion when it comes to eating stuff. Shit, a Big Gulp is like a Baby Splash for me. My urine tastes like Cheetos. Speaking of eating, here’s my picks for the best food products of 2009 (in no particular order).

  • Jelly Donuts
  • Cheetos
  • Cocoa Krispies
  • Mike Fields
  • Raw Sewage
  • Disco Balls
  • Coke Zero
  • Monday Night Football
  • Shooting Missiles at the Moon
  • Fake Toenails
  • Charlie Alan Kraft’s Bowl Stains
  • Peanut Butter and Jelly (hold the sandwich)
  • Farts
  • Bean Pies
  • Dr. Pepper (after it shoots out your nose)
  • Famous Amos’ Chocolate Chip Cookies
  • Fuckin’ French Fries
  • Two Dollar Bills
  • That Last X-Men Movie
  • Ben Pink, and the Hobble Horse He Rode In On
  • The Month of October
  • Salami
  • Jews
  • Bleeding Wounds
  • Wiener Dogs

The absolute best thing in the world to eat, though??? (drumroll)


Boys Eating Popsicles

Before we kick this party off, let’s make something clear right from the start. Yeah, you wish you were me. Got it. No need to remind me. You know how I know that? Because my brother rocks packed restaurants full of hot new mom action. He’s also TOTALLY INTO LITTLE BOYS,  which leaves all that fishwrap for me and me alone. What do you think that smell is, it sure as hell ain’t BEN’S PINK. No way, buddy, that’s WET PINK.

I looooooove the stink finger. Speaking of which, I decided that to tie my perspective into the format of this publication, I would become an artist. How fuckin’ hard is that? Hahahaha! Oh, hey, look at me, I make pictures, whoopty-fuckin-doo! Someone please tell me how awesome and important I am or I’ll cry!

"Boy Eating Popsicle #3" green with envy I know it and you know it... You should see #1... it's so good your mom wants me to draw it on her stank with my tongue, and you don't need to see that.

Check it out, I made some sweet ass pictures of boys eating popsicles! Coolest fuckin’ part is how each popsicle is a DIFFERENT COLOR! Other awesome part? TOOK ME FIVE MINUTES! Guess what else takes me five minutes? Bangin’ your mom at your sixth birthday party while you were cryin’ about the BIG SCARY MOUSE! Hahahaha! You actually thought we were REAL MICE! What a fuckin’ MORON! Mom had one hell of a hot ass, though, at least until I got done with it!

By the way, that’s all from the imagination. Lots of you so-called artists out there think you’re gonna be famous and important but don’t have any imagination. You want originality? TOO LATE, I JUST USED THE BEST IDEA LEFT. You know why? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ famous and better than everyone else. Boys Eating Popsicles?……….. GONE!

See that kid with the popsicle drippin’ down his fat little tummy? Check it out, look at the drawing I did. THAT’S YOU. You’re just some stick figure, wanna-be, wish-you-were-me, nothing little loser. Know why? CAUSE YOU’RE NOT FAMOUS. Know how I can tell? CAUSE YOU CRY FOR YOUR MOMMY. That’s right, I heard you the other night, while I was busy pancakin’ her batter through the service entrance. I imagined you with your sissy little purple popsicle, fat rolls just quivering with delight. I IMAGINED YOU. That means I can do anything I want with you.

One more thing. You wanna be famous? TOO LATE, I JUST IMAGINED YOU CRIPPLED AND DEAD. It is so good to be awesome. Famous, I mean. Well, awesome too. Best thing about it? I can talk to you ANY WAY I WANT. Why? Because you’re not famous. You have nothing on me, Timmy. Get down on your knees and suck a green popsicle, but this time make sure you get it all in your mouth. Little fuckin’ pervert you art. See that, made a joke.

By the way, all three of these amazing portraits are for sale. The price is $10,000,000 because even if you don’t buy my shit I will still be RICH AND FAMOUS.

Fuck you and die,

Chuck O. Cheese


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…


Until next time,
Bad Habits

Welcome: That Not Nice!

Resident craigslist correspondent, Baby.

Our very own resident craigslist columnist, Baby.

[robot: today after an advertisement for our fledgling little publication was posted on craigslist, some people took time out of their busy days to visit our website and posted their reactions back on craigslist. apparently they were unaware that they can say whatever they want here. anyhow, we sent our resident craigslist correspondent, Baby, out to investigate the matter further.]

POST #1: Re: Portland Art Exposed “New online magazine created to destroy the mythos of Portland’s so-called art scene” What a noble endeavor! Good to see you finally found your niche- a blog! A blog devoted to clawing at anything more successful than you, so you’ll have plenty of material. Don’t you see you are only exposing yourself? You just splashed all your negativity, failure, bitterness and spite onto a page for all the world to see. No one will respect you for it. You’re just another anti-racc whiner. With 3 petty grievances. Way to go! That’s just what I’d want to be known for. But, thanks, you’ve reminded me how repulsive a being is when they blame everything but themselves. I’ll be returning to my studio now to spend my time on something worthwhile.

BABY’S RESPONSE: You make Baby cry! You want Baby dead!

POST #2: Re: Portland Art EXPOSED What a waste of time, go whine about your pathetic life somewhere else. Nobody likes you or your sorry excuse for humor.

BABY’S RESPONSE: You make Baby sad! You kill Baby’s mommy!

POST #3: Portland Art exposed. Yes Ben Pink is the Big Problem. I used to think that RACC and DK Row were the worst things about the Portland art scene but now that you reminded me it is Ben Pink even worse than Mel Katz. There is only one salvation in Portland art’s scene now and it is the Anti art anti racc scene — Its time to have an anti Ben pink web page to complement that one. If Ben Pink has not joined us art super stars having had sex with Mayor Sex Adams I think he should. My name is Joe Blue by the way and I would love to meet Ben Pink some day up close in personal. The two of us could be instant Pink and Blue together! Fuck Portland. Fuck RACC. Art is dead. Let smoke dope and pray. My favorite painting in portland art museum:

BABY’S RESPONSE: You say bad words! That not nice! You make Baby’s tummy hurt!

POST #4: so I have a pretty good idea who that anti-racc guy is no offense love, I’ve been there when you’ve mentioned some of your references. (:

BABY’S RESPONSE: You stranger! You sell Baby for drugs!

POST #5: RE: Portland Art Exposed (the pit of despair that is my life) hating art must be a great past time. enjoy!

BABY’S RESPONSE: You yucky! You want Baby naked!

[robot: that wraps up our craiglist coverage for the day, it’s late and Baby needs to go night-night. you can reach baby at, goodnight]

BABY’S RESPONSE: Again! Again!


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?


Be safe,
Bad Habits