A Visit to the Art Gallery
A Visit to the Art Gallery
Laughing Stalk syndicate
"Remember, don't touch anything when we're in here."
"An art gallery."
"No Buddy, not a heart gallery, an art gallery."
"Sweetie, don't say that in public."
"I know it rhymes with art, but you shouldn't say it in public."
"I realize you can say that at home. But we're not at home."
"We're at an art gallery. I just told you."
"It's where they show art."
"Yes, like the kind you guys make."
"No, you can't color anything in here."
"Because you can't touch anything."
"Because you'll break something. And I can't afford or won't like whatever you break."
"Of course I like your art, Sweetie."
"Yes, Buddy, I like your art too."
"I like them both the same."
"Uh-uh. Daddies don't pick favorites. Ask Mommy what she thinks."
"What? I wasn't trying to put you in a tough spot. I was just saying you wouldn't pick a favorite either."
"Just remember not to touch anything in here."
"It's a sculpture, Buddy."
"Well, the half-eaten sandwich that's been discarded on the paper plate represents our careless attitude toward food while other people in the world are starv— oh, sorry, sir. I didn't know that was your dinner."
"Sweetie, don't shout across the room like that. And don't say words like that either."
"They're called breasts, not boobies."
"I know you guys call them boobies at home."
"Because we're not at home."
"No, Honey, we can't leave yet."
"Because I like going to art galleries. I want you guys to learn to like them too."
"I just like seeing art. It's a chance to see what other people have created. Art is the heart of a community. This is a great way to see what people are thinking about, or what they think is important."
"Yes, Sweetie, I know you like drawing SpongeBob SquarePants."
"Yes, Buddy, I guess some people think boobies are important."
"What? He asked, I had to answer."
"I am not being a bad influence. Look, we said we would never lie to the kids. Besides, I think we should teach them that boo—breasts, at least in art, are nothing to giggle at."
"No, Honey, not all art is important."
"Well, sometimes it's just pomposity and ego. Some people just think it's great to just emotionally vomit onto a canvas and call it art. Or they root around in the garbage and pile up a bunch of stuff like we're supposed to be impressed by their creativity. But sometimes it's just literally a pile of—no, ma'am, I didn't mean your work."
"I like your interpretation of. . . uhh. . . oh, yours is the one with the boo—breasts."
"No, I was just explaining to my daughter about the pretensions of some artists. I wasn't referring to your work at all."
"Buddy, don't touch the boobies—I mean, art."
"No, I didn't know this was your show."
"Well, I wasn't referring to your art. I was talking about some other artists."
"Uh, I don't know their names."
"Look, if we didn't like it, we wouldn't have come in."
"Oh yeah? You probably couldn't even spell bourgeois."
"Let's go, guys. We're leaving."
"Sweetie, don't eat her cookies. Because they're probably as tasteless as her art."
"See kids, I told you art could be fun."
"What? I'm not teaching the kids bad manners. They're learning how to be art critics.
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