Boobs, Bush, and The Creative Process.

cropped-rollerbladerfinal12.jpg

“To stimulate creativity, one must develop the childlike inclination for play”

-Albert Einstein

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

-Pablo Picasso

For six years, I worked at a wine bar called Lou, which is where I met my husband and my best friend B (the one who just had twins). Sadly, it closed years ago.

My poor coworkers patiently endured my quarter life crisis (aka my twenties). During that time, I was dumped by my fiancé right before our wedding, I moved apartments an average of twice a year, and I suffered form a severe case of self-hatred and self-doubt. I also kind of hated waiting tables, which didn’t always make for a pleasant work attitude. I don’t like to admit that I was pretty unhappy.

The real problem was that I was an artist who didn’t produce very much art. I was unable to tap into my creativity. I feared I had no imagination and had nothing to say.

Despite my mental and emotional problems, we all really enjoyed our time working together at the wine bar. Things were out of hand most of the time. I can’t imagine what customers must have thought of us. We gave each other a nightly shoulder massage (our boss included), scavenged scraps of farm-to-table food from the kitchen (every restaurant these days is farm-to-table), sat down with the regular customers, danced, cried, argued, and took way too many smoking breaks.

At the end of every night, our boss would subject us to strange American standards from the 60’s like My Bathroom is a Private Kind of Place and sappy tear-jerkers from the 70’s like Send in the Clowns.

One evening, at the end of my shift, I was sitting at the bar doing the close out and counting our tips, when I found myself with a serious urge to doodle something obscene. So, I utilized the only art supplies I had at the time – a tip envelope, and one of the few pens that wasn’t swiped by some thieving customer.

The first thing I drew was a naked woman roller skating, while being propelled through the air by a presumably noxious fart, with an abundance of breast milk spraying from her nipples, and a sassy turd left in her wake. I’m pretty sure the idea came from a combination of a conversation I had with my boss about making cheese from breast milk, my friend B flashing me her pubes during a girly bathroom rendezvous, and odd memories from childhood supplied directly from my subconscious.

I continued doodling every night, until it occurred to me that these weren’t just doodles. They were masterpieces. I was meant to draw boobs, bush, farts, breast milk, and poop. Is it juvenile and repulsive? Yes! Is it lady-like and feminine? Absolutely not. Is there a deeper message that I want my audience to grasp? Mmmm, I’ll just let the viewer decide.

The point is, I found a way to make art that makes me happy. I’m not constantly questioning whether it’s good or not, because it doesn’t matter. I enjoy the process.

I’m not going to act like I’m fulfilled all the time, because I’m not. It’s easy to slip into doubt, and question my self-worth as an artist. Especially since I am doing drawings that primarily consist of ladies taking a crap, and weird fat babies.

I can easily doubt my abilities as a mom too, when I’m bored out of my skull by having to hold Liam’s hands as I walk him up and down the sidewalk for the hundredth time.

Then, I surprise myself and come up with a new idea for my art, and I get to wonder where it came from…

and I notice how cute it is that when Liam practices walking, he looks like he’s drunk…and he holds my fingers so tight, they turn purple.

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More Crappy Baby Drawings That Look Like Old Fat People

My wonderful friend B is in the hospital because she just gave birth to twins! I cannot believe she had two humans inside her, and now they are here – new to this world, like little aliens with wrinkly red faces.

Actually, they’re quite beautiful. B called me via Facetime and I got to see them sleeping next to each other. We haven’t visited yet because Liam (my baby) has a cold. I would hate to wipe his sick all over B’s new babies.

Of course this great birthing event calls for some crappy baby drawings. B! if you ever find time to read this (which is doubtful), I apologize for these drawings. Your babies are so much cuter than this:

betsey's penny

This is Olga. She is seventy-six years old, and enjoys long walks in NYC, in her ankle length winter coat that she purchased at her local thrift store.

betsey's rohan

This is Boris. He also lives in NYC. He has been a cab driver for 26 years and doesn’t take shit from anybody.

Congrats to B and her family! Welcome to the world of endless diapers and breast pumping good times.

The Rules of Pooping

rules of pooping

The list I’m about to share with you is very important. I recommend committing it to memory or printing it out and putting it in your wallet as a reference.

1. The Poop Room – If you are lucky enough to live in a home with more than one bathroom, then you must designate one of the bathrooms as “The Poop Room.” That means that one of the bathrooms is used exclusively for pooping, and the other bathroom remains poop free. The poop room may be used for other bathroom activities as well, so long as someone is not already in there pooping. The poop free room must never, under any circumstances, be used for pooping. That is, unless, two people have to poop at the same time. That is the only exception.

Some people might think that the reason for this is to protect guests and family members from offensive smells. The real reason is so that the person pooping may poop in peace, without worrying about grandma or someone’s boyfriend waiting outside the door for their turn to go a measly number one, while being engulfed by your stank.

The worst part about pooping with someone waiting to use the bathroom after you, is their smiling face when you open the door, and they pretend to not be hit in the face by your poo smell. Even worse, is when they emerge from the bathroom a few moments later pretending as if they didn’t notice how god awful the stench was. Not only have they ruined your poop time, but they have also passive aggressively shamed you by pretending it never happened.

By not acknowledging the poo smell, they are saying it is too shameful to discuss. I understand refraining from announcing to everyone in the room about how smelly someone’s poo is. But at least approach the person whose pooping time you just ruined by saying, “Hey, are you okay? That really stunk bad,” or “Hey, that was pretty bad. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” or “Wow, that was awesomely stinky! Good job!”

2. The Aftermath – Some people say if you poo and it stinks (which it usually does), that the poo’er should light a match or spray some air freshener. This is a very common misconception. The only thing a match or air freshener will do is make the bathroom smell like poo and match, or poo and air freshener. I guess some might think that’s better than pure poo, but I beg to differ. Here is the real way to handle a stinky poo:

  • Step 1: Wipe in a front to back motion.
  • Step 2: Use a moist flushable butt wipe to remove any poop residue.
  • Step 2: Flush
  • Step 3: Make sure all waste has successfully made it down the flush hole.
  • Step 4: If there is still some poop remnants, a second flush is required.
  • Step 5: If the toilet clogs, the plunger will be required, and hopefully the plunger is located in the bathroom.
  • Step 6: Make sure to remove all skid marks from the toilet bowl with the little scrubby toilet bowl brush.
  • Step 7: Sometimes a flush following the use of the scrubby toilet bowl brush is needed, but not usually.
  • Step 8: Open a window or turn on the fan or utilize both options, if they are available.
  • Step 9: Wash your hands! If some A-hole is lurking outside the bathroom door and they know you’ve pooped, they will judge you for skipping that step. Also, you just really should wash your hands so you don’t get shit particles all over the place. Even if you think you got a clean swipe and nothing made it onto your hands…there is just no way to know for sure.
  • Step 10: Close the door behind you! You don’t want your poo smell wafting through the house. Sometimes people think it’s better to have an open window and an open door to really air things out, but this is actually extremely selfish and careless. It’s better to seal off the bathroom and not make everyone else in the house suffer.
  • Step 11: If someone tries to use the bathroom after you, the kindest thing to do is warn them of the smell they may experience. (Keep in mind, some poo smells can take up to an hour to clear)! Then, that person has the option of waiting for the smell to clear, holding their breath should they decide to brave the smell, or maybe they’re gross and they want to take a big whiff. Either way, everyone has a right to choose.

3. The Public Bathroom – If you time your day poorly (aka have coffee while out, before your morning poo), or are confronted with the sudden urge to poo (diarrhea), sometimes the only option is the dreaded public bathroom. It’s not fun, but we’ve all been there.

  • Don’t Panic. Calmly seek out a private bathroom (the single seater, without multiple stalls). That way if there are other people who need to use the bathroom after you, you don’t have to deal with as much embarrassment as the multiple stall bathroom, because really only the person who goes in after you will suspect you of poo’ing.
  • When leaving the bathroom and faced with a person waiting to go in after you, blame the smell on the person before you. Say, “Oh man, it’s really bad in there. I almost threw up. Good luck,” and then roll your eyes for emphasis. Your disgust will imply that you didn’t do it because people don’t usually get grossed out by their own smells. You would never want to overtly say, “It wasn’t me!” because no one will believe that. Keep in mind, they will only believe you if you didn’t make them wait their turn for more than 20 minutes. The best part is they will usually respond to the warning with immense gratitude. I don’t typically recommend lying, but if you’re one of those people that’s easily embarrassed, this might ease your social discomfort.
  • If you can’t find a private option and you’re stuck with a bathroom with multiple stalls, you’ll want to find the stall that is furthest from the entrance. It gives the illusion of privacy. If you are using a movie theater bathroom, then you’re in luck, because usually there are countless stalls, and so the furthest stall really does end up being pretty private.
  • If you are worried about people hearing you poo, you’ll want to use the shared bathroom to your advantage, and try to only let the poo hit the water at the same moment that someone turns on the faucet to wash their hands. Even better if the theater has installed those really loud hand dryers that makes your hand skin look like someone’s face when they’re sky diving.
  • If your poo is really stinky and it is wafting out of the stall and into the rest of the bathroom, you must poo as quickly as possible and promptly leave without making eye contact. You are not subjecting your poo to your loved ones. These are merely strangers whom you will never see again. You don’t owe them anything. The other option is to stay in the stall as long as possible until the poo smell cannot be traced back to your stall, and the people who were in the bathroom when the poo occurred have since moved on. If you’re lucky, you will have avoided a new wave of people, and walk out into an empty bathroom.
  • If you’re in a multiple stall bathroom and there is only one other person, timing is everything. If you think you can poo fast enough to leave the bathroom without coming face to face with that person, then you should do that. If you miscalculate, and you’re still poo’ing when they have finished, it is advisable to wait until they leave. Give yourself an extra minute at the sink so as not to accidentally have them recognize you outside the bathroom. They may not have seen your face, but they more than likely saw your feet peaking out from under the stall.

4. Providing a Healthy Poo’ing Environment for Guests/The Ultimate Pooping Room: Even though I do not advocate masking the smell of poop with a lit match or air freshener, it’s important to make guests feel secure while pooping in your home. I’ll even go as far as to let my guests know, upon their arrival, where the designated poop room is. Unfortunately, at the moment, we are living in a one bathroom home…but in the past, when I’ve lived in a home with two, I was always courteous enough to let people know where they could safely poo.

Here is a list of items you should have in your bathroom at all times:

  • Reading material
  • Scented Candle
  • Lighter
  • Matches
  • Air Freshener (preferably with a lavender scent)
  • Plunger
  • Toilet Bowl Scrubber
  • Extra Rolls of Toilet Paper
  • Moist Flushable Butt Wipes
  • Hand Soap
  • Clean Hand Towel

As you may have noticed, I have included matches and air freshener in the list, despite my belief that they do nothing to mask the smell of poop. The reason for this is I strongly believe a comfortable pooping experience is in the eye of the poo’er. In other words, the way in which we handle our shit smells has to do with what makes us feel comfortable. If someone believes that the match is the way to go, then I feel it is only fair to give that person that option. If I am going to provide the ultimate pooping room (which is my intention), then I need to anticipate everyone’s preference of poo smell remedies.

There is a delicate balance between comfortably pooping and being courteous of others when it comes to subjecting them to your poo smells. Hopefully, these rules will help people poop in harmony.

(If anyone has any other suggestions for rules that should be added, please let me know)!

Bitchez Be Eatin’ Cheeseburgerz

This week was a little rough. I’m pretty sure it was worse for my husband. He really gets the short end when I’m feeling emotional and crabby…and by crabby I mean a raving bitch – aka PMSing, but it’s safer not to use that term. If I use that term about myself, then my loved ones will think it’s acceptable for them to use as well, and it’s just not. I repeat, NOT OKAY (by the way, I’m still PMSing, so don’t challenge me).

The thing that really put me in a foul mood though was the four hours I spent on Thursday night, doing an extremely shitty drawing. Nothing frustrates me more than making art and realizing it’s god awful. It was so bad that I still can’t look at it, and I certainly can’t post it. So instead, here’s a doodle I found, which I did a few years ago.

pouring water on vagina

It’s probably more disturbing than my post about badly drawn babies. I’ve seen it make some people actually feel physically sick.

Anyway, so Thursday night, my husband got home from work really late, and he walked through the door just as I realized I had wasted my entire evening on this sucky drawing. So, I did what any woman in her not-so-right mind would do…I unleashed the beast…on my husband of course. Who else?!

When we finally got into bed, I told myself, “Tomorrow is a new day.” But when I awoke Friday morning, I still felt lousy. I knew what had to be done. I said to myself, or I guess to Liam (my one year old son), because he was sitting right there staring at me, “I need to get a goddamn cheeseburger.” Just the thought of getting a cheeseburger started to make me feel better. There’s something to be said for eating your feelings.

Liam and I ate at a restaurant in Culver City. I ordered our food and he stared at the couple sitting behind us, as if hanging on their every word. Our food arrived promptly, and I began the process of cutting half of everything on my plate into little bite-size pieces.

Liam was a joy! When he wasn’t shoving food in his mouth, he was waving at everyone who walked past our table. He sat in the high chair, as still as a saint, with the posture of a dancer. I couldn’t believe it. He has never made it through an entire meal at a restaurant without whining, climbing, or throwing food on the floor.

The burger was epic! It glistened with juices that ran down my chin. My eyes filled with tears of joy as I experienced the crisp crunch of the iceburg lettuce. The brioche bun was the yin and yang of sweet and salty. Someone had made that burger with love.

A beam of light peaked through the clouds from heaven, and shined down on us. Little angels burst from specs of dust and swirled all around our table. I mean, really. It was amazing.

Needless to say, the day really turned around. When we got home, I put Liam down for his nap. Then, I sat on the couch and embraced my food coma. I even left my muffin top untucked.

Headbands, Ugly High-Waisted Pants, and The Camel Toe Dilemma

trendy girl

When it comes to fashion, I’ve never been one to wear anything outlandish – excluding the time in 5th grade when I used to wear crocheted vests and Troll earrings.

I like to feel comfortable in what I’m wearing. I just make sure my stomach isn’t hanging over my pants and that I don’t have four-boob (which is the unfortunate outcome of wearing a bra that is too small for your boobs). That pretty much sums up my fashion sense these days.

As a result, I don’t follow fashion trends, but I can’t help but notice the problems there are with some of the things I see famous people wearing. I know I’m not an authority on fashion, for the reasons I just mentioned, but if you’re a discerning, shit picking person (which obviously I am), it’s easy to spot these hideous fashion trends:

1. The Headband – The one that is worn over the hair, across the forehead, and after an hour of being worn, it makes the hair poof up around the crown of the head. Please don’t do this. If you are reading this and are presently wearing one of these headbands, you must immediately remove it. No one likes this look but you. I bet if you really searched your soul, you’d find that you don’t really like it either. Maybe you started wearing it when it was more socially acceptable (the first five minutes of when the trend started – maybe not even then), and now you feel naked without it. I promise you’ll be okay.

2. The Clown Makeup – This is a pretty simple thing to avoid. Heavy eyeshadow must only be applied if being worn with a nude lip, or at least a very pale color. Same rule applies if you want to wear dark lipstick. If you are wearing dark lipstick, you have to go easy on the eyeshadow. You can’t wear dark lipstick with heavy eyeshadow, unless, you wanna be a ho or in a Robert Palmer video.

3. Pointy Witch Nails – They’re scary. Just don’t. (Unless you’re my friend whose name starts with the letter B, then it’s just mildly scary, but mostly cute).

4. The Useless Decorative Button – Unless you’re Michael Jackson, which you’re not for obviously reasons, you shouldn’t have these on any item of clothing. Only Barbie can wear decorative buttons, because if she wore real buttons, the button holes would be too small to actually be buttoned by a full sized human, or even a small child.

5. High-Waisted Pant with Midriff – Why is everyone doing this?! (JLo and Kim Kardashian) All I can think when I see this is, “why would you intentionally make yourself look like you have no torso?” Even on the most toned person, the midriff skin flap ends up hanging over the pant (the ‘s’ was left off intentionally). A high-waisted pant should only be used as a place to tuck-in your muffin top.

6. Platform Shoes – They’re ugly, even on trannies. Same goes for goths with trench coats. I might make an exception for extremely short people, because if you wore heels high enough to make you look tall, the front part of your foot would eventually go numb, and then probably break off. Nah, even you shorties. I think you should just embrace your shortness.

7. Camel Toe – I am reluctant to add this to the list of Hideous Fashion Trends because a severe camel toe can be a lot of fun, both for the presenter and for the viewer. Of course this depends on whether or not the camel toe was intentional. I think I just added it to the list because I wanted to draw a girl with camel toe. My only regret is that it’s not as severe as I had hoped.

I don’t want to be a hater. I really don’t. The thing is I have recently started watching shows like American Idol and The Bachelor, and I’d really prefer not to see anymore chicks with those headbands. It would make my viewing experience much more pleasurable. Also, my husband wouldn’t have to hear me bitch about it, although he agrees with me. That’s right! He willingly watches these shows! In his defense, they’re probably not his first choice, it’s just that I’m pretty bossy with the clicker, (to you younger folks out there, I’m referring to the remote control).

The Truth About Going to the Beach With a One Year Old

farting on beach

Every week, my husband and I look forward to a relaxing weekend. Then, when Saturday finally rolls around, we are reminded of the fact that we have a 13 month old boy, who is like a goddamn wind up toy – you put him down on the ground and he’s on the move until you pick him back up again.

This past weekend, we had big plans to get a good night’s sleep on Saturday, and go to the beach early on Sunday. My brother in-law was going to come as well. The boys were going to surf, while Liam and I relaxed on the beach. For the record, I don’t do the ocean.

I grew up in NY, on Long Island….In the Hamptons.

Yeah! That’s right! The Hamptons!

No, I did not grow up in a mansion on the ocean and no, I do not know the Kardashians or Sean Puffy Combs or whoever else is hanging out there these days.

Anyway, the Atlantic ocean is like a warm bath with gentle ripples in comparison to the Pacific. Here in LA, the ocean is fucking cold and full of seaweed, with a congregation of the biggest douchebags on the planet (not that the people on the Hamptons’ beaches are any better). LA has some serious douche-baggers, especially on Abbot Kinney in Venice. I thought they were bad in Hollywood, but Venice is truly the worst.

After living in LA for over 14 years, I don’t have much hope for humanity….but, I will never stop hoping, that when Liam grows up, he will stay away from surfing, rock climbing, sky diving, and anything else that requires his feet to leave the safety of solid ground. I also hope he never turns into a douchebag, but the chances of that are slim, since I intend to have a pretty strict no douchebag policy in our home.

Anyway, back to the weekend…

Here’s what really happened (written in the style of Bridget Jones’ clever short hand).

Saturday Night:

8:30pm – Too lazy to make a real dinner, throw some frozen potstickers into a pan, and make a simple salad so as not to feel malnourished/like a fat ass.

9pm – Sit down to eat with husband and pour a glass of rosé, while watching Enlightened streaming on HBO GO.

10pm – Realize I’ve had 3 glasses of rosé and 20 potstickers. Feel fat and drunk.

10:30pm – Genuinely depressed to find out that Enlightened was canceled two years ago. Feel very out of touch with pop culture. Was this show even popular?

11pm – Make it to bed at a decent hour,  but need to check blog stats

11:50am – Cuddle with husband for a minute before falling asleep.

Sunday Morning:

2:30am – Liam starts crying, I go in to nurse him and wonder if I’m getting him drunk on my breastmilk. Decide it has been long enough to process alcohol.

2:45am – Google, “How to tell if my baby is drunk or just sleepy.”

4am – Woken up by massive earthquake. Jump out of bed to rush into Liam’s room to save him from falling debris. Turns out earthquake is only a 3.9

4:05am – Talk to husband about how it felt like the big one. Exchange our personal account of the earthquake, even though it only lasted a total of five seconds.

4:10am – Realize we aren’t prepared if/when the big one hits.

4:11am – Google, “what to do when an earthquake hits.” Reminded not to go in a doorway. Realize there’s no safe place in the house.

4:15am – Google, “where to buy an earthquake kit.”

4:16am – Have visions of being crushed by ceiling. Imagine running outside to the middle of street. Consider the fact that I would be wearing nothing but underpants (big ones). Resolve to start wearing pajamas.

4:25am – Somehow end up on Facebook, sifting through various mommy posts about EBF, SAHM, DD, DH, and FTM. Curse to self about mommy blog acronyms.

4:30am – Just start to fall back asleep when husband starts snoring.

4:45am – Finally asleep

7:25am – Wake up to cat, with her butthole pointed directly at my face. Sudden sneezing fit from allergies to cat. Sneeze wakes Liam. Liam cries.

8am – Eat healthy breakfast of yogurt, berries, and granola to counter act hangover.

8:30am – Load everyone into car.

8:45am – Make husband stop off to get me a breakfast burrito because yogurt was too healthy/not filling.

9:00am – Finally arrive at the beach.

I had this idealistic vision of getting to the beach – with the sun shining and a cool breeze blowing off the ocean. I imagined lying back in my beach chair, while Liam played quietly with his toys, safely shielded from the sun in head to toe SPF 100 organic sunblock.

But, it turned to be an overcast day. I carried Liam, the diaper bag, burrito, and beach chair down by the life guard stand, to set up our crap. My husband and my brother-in-law stood by the car, in their towels, carefully not flashing anyone their junk while they put on their wetsuits.

After sweating profusely from carrying an entire human and a bunch of stuff to make the beach a pleasant/tolerable place, I set Liam on the beach blanket with his truck and plastic stacking cups.

I exhaled with relief, as I sat back in my beach chair with my burrito. I took a bite and dear god, if that wasn’t the best burrito I’d ever had. It was just egg, sausage, and hash browns…but it was perfect.

Before I could even swallow – Liam was crawling towards the water, across an accumulation of debris consisting of dead jellyfish, old seaweed, and cigarette butts. I had to pick him up and return him to his proper place on the blanket no less than 50 times.

Finally, I had the brilliant idea to share my burrito with him so he’d sit “near mommy, and let mommy relax.” Little did I know, as small as he is, he would eat most of my burrito – we’re talking one of those big thick burritos – the kind where when you’re watching the guy make it, you wonder how he will physically be able to roll it closed.

I know it’s terrible of me to want my baby to sit still, even though I know he is physically incapable of controlling his little body, and needs to roam free to explore.

Like right now…Liam is dying for me to be done writing this. Poor little guy needs to get out in the sun and be with other babies, so he doesn’t end up like Nell – babbling to himself in an abandoned house in the forest somewhere, because his mother didn’t get him out into the world to be properly socialized. On that note, I must be done writing for the day.

Bananas – The Worst Fruit

banana boobs final copy

Remember when you were a kid and you used to have pretend phone conversations into a banana? Those were the good ol’ days! I’m actually kind of pissed I ever switched to a real phone. It got me thinking (which ultimately made me a little depressed), about how my baby, Liam, might never talk into a banana.

A Few Reasons Liam May Never Talk into a Banana:

1. Pretend phone conversations with fruit have been replaced by the imagination-killing glow of the cell phone screen. Anytime Liam gets his hands on my iphone, he becomes irritable and obsessive. It’s actually kind of creepy. I don’t know why, but obsessive babies that have pent up anger remind me of Chucky – minus the red hair, facial scars, bad language, and propensity for violence and murder.

2. We don’t really eat bananas in our house, especially if I buy them. In fact, there are presently 6 over-ripe bananas sitting in our forgotten fruit bowl. I’ve tried to be more Pinterest-y and use over-ripe bananas for homemade banana bread, but they turn black in the fridge and then a month later, I discover them and wonder why I go through so much trouble for a fruit I kind of loathe anyway. In theory, what’s not to love? They’re convenient, healthy, sweet, fun to draw, and phallic. But the truth is that they aren’t juicy! Period! By definition, a good fruit is supposed to be juicy. They are the opposite of juicy. They actually make me thirsty. That’s reason alone not to buy them.

3. Bananas are soon going to be too expensive to buy and then become extinct. Can you imagine paying a dollar per pound for bananas?! Gross! It’s old news, but according to this article, we’re looking at only three more years of bananas.

I have endured a banana on occasion, but I have strict rules for banana consumption.

The Conditions Under Which I Will Consume a Banana:

1. Slightly under-ripe (so it’s not too mushy), sliced over cereal, with a good amount of milk. It has to be in a somewhat healthy cereal, though. Bananas look ridiculous in something like Fruity Pebbles or Lucky Charms. If you eat it in those types of cereals, you’re wrong. Also, for the record, Lucky Charms is a terrible cereal and Fruity Pebbles really shouldn’t ever be eaten, unless it’s on top of some frozen yogurt…and not just any frozen yogurt – it has to be Yogurtland.

2. In a peanut butter sandwich…again, don’t forget how un-juicy a banana is. When you pair it with peanut butter, you will desperately need something to drink. You cannot wash it down with anything other than water or milk, unless you want to be disgusting.

3. Running late for an afternoon appointment, shaking from hunger, with no time to stop for food – not even at a drive thru McDonalds or anywhere else equally as shitty…this is one of the two occasions a banana may be consumed without other food.

4. While extremely pregnant, low blood sugar, in need of potassium, with a strange craving for a banana. This is occasion number two in which a banana may be consumed without other food.

When the banana industry meets its maker, I will not mourn their absence. However, I will continue to draw ladies with banana boobs. I may not find bananas tasty, but they certainly are funny.