By now you're probably still not aware that I've written a couple articles wherein I critiqued the horrid artistic anathemas excreted by children using primitive crayon drawing tools. I don't really expect you to know something like that anymore than I expect you to send me a card on the holidays or on my birthday. It's just common courtesy, and I don't blame you for not having it. But I do blame you for not doing your part to protect art, which, if you don't count music, dance, or murder, is the universal language of man. Art is what separates us from the savage animals amassed at the edges of civilization, waiting for the perfect moment to maul us to death with their sharp teeth, pointy claws, and colorfully festive beaks. Art is what makes us pretentious and better than animals, so we must guard and protect it like a pot of pudding-covered lesbians resting at the end of a particular curvaceous rainbow. Yes, that means respecting art. If we let every knucklehead draw stupid pictures of sexually aroused dragons and naked elves bathing in shimmering hidden lakes, then eventually art will be about as valuable as beekeeping tips from a perverted hobo. We can't exactly undo the damage that's already been done, but we can protect art from the next generation of furries, fantasy obsessed losers, and all-around scary cretins destined to use art as a way of satiating their horrific sexual frustrations. Because I want to do my part, welcome to yet another retread of an old idea! It's time for another round of children's art critiquing!
Seeing as how I myself fear children and their menacing bites, slobber, and unrepentant staring, I prefer to avoid them altogether. That's why I'm going to play it safe and attack them from afar, and there is no place further from reality than the Internet! My targets for this exercise are the pusillanimous lads behind the site Dream Anatomy, which is hosted by the National Library of Medicine, an apparent branch of our government. I can only assume this horrible art, all on the topic of human anatomy, was therefore produced at taxpayer expense. Yes, that's right, our very government is taking your hard earned money and investing it in anatomy charts from stupid children with no medical training whatsoever. I don't know about you, but I find this completely insane and worthy of an investigation spearheaded by no less than the sinister Dr. Henry Kissinger. The absolutely appalling ignorance of the nation's youth truly shines here, as not one single drawing offered on this site appears to be even remotely true to life. Most of these kids demonstrate a complete lack of basic understanding of the human form, and seem to believe that we are no more than sausages that evolved giant seal arms. Some drawings even appear to be nothing more than anthropomorphic explosions, a concept best saved for comic books and not medical illustrations. Since this is all downright horrifying, we might as well get it over with.
Matthew, Age 6
Matthew offers up this important diagram that will aid doctors in removing dinner rolls from human ears. I certainly hate when I get bread lodged in my ear canals, as it's terribly distressing, not to mention an embarrassing faux pas. Matthew's bizarre depiction of the human body includes a rib cage that seems act as a skewer, jabbing through organs instead of protecting them. I haven't quite determined if that dark smudge on the head is a brain or a toupee, but given the facial expression on this poor sap's face, I don't think it would make much difference.
Additional Comments: Matthew has no comprehension of the subject matter he is referencing, clearly did no research, and clearly went to no effort to check the accuracy of his work. He can no more differentiate human anatomy from a Pop-Tart.
Final Grade: F
Porsche, Age 6
You know Porsche is in good hands, seeing as how her parents named her after a car. I think the only way it would be appropriate to be named after a car is if that car was Kitt, the talking car from Knight Rider. What I liked most about Kitt was that he had personality, something you don't really expect when it comes to talking cars. He was a sassy car, but professional at the same time. It's hard to imagine where Michael Knight would have been without the constant support of Kitt, but I don't think he would have lasted long. He and that car sure had some awesome adventures. Porsche certainly can't compete with Knight Rider, but then I don't think she was intending to when she drew this frightening picture. In her hands, the human body is nothing more than a near-empty cupboard. We see a clearly visible organ of some sort, perhaps a liver or a crude representation of the genitals, but it is gray and all dried up. Above it we see a gigantic fly patiently consuming what's left of this poor soul's innards. Further up, we see that the flesh of the face is gone and replaced with the mortal red of blood, or perhaps charred in some horrendous fire. Whatever ate away the flesh also took the eyelids, leaving the eyeballs as bulbous shapes, staring epically because they lack any means of hiding. Like suns that never set, they peer endlessly forward incapable of ever truly knowing night. The limbs, those tiny useless stumps, open up as if to accept a hug, completely oblivious to the notion that no one could ever bring themselves to hug this beast. But just as no one could ever love this monstrosity, it can never know love itself. There is no heart in the cupboard, only the hunger of the fly.
Additional Comments: Porsche shows a morbid fascination with death and emptiness. This coupled with her inventive handling of the assignment makes this piece far too subjective to get any real use in the medical profession. Perhaps if she focused on the goal at hand instead of projecting her uncertainties, she could have gotten the job done.
Final Grade: F
Owse, Age 6
I think we can rule that Owse, who I'm going to assume is a male for no particular reason whatsoever, is a completely unprofessional stooge. Am I to believe that this is truly his internal body? If so, then I don't even want to know what he looks like on the outside. First off, having an impressive wingspan is generally a bad thing when you're a human, mainly because humans don't have wings. So right away we have a problem with Owse's giant green wings. The head is also very perplexing, since he seems to have ears not unlike those of a koala bear. What's more, he has antlers! Thanks Owse, but if we wanted drawings of the magic bird deity that haunts your nightmares, we'd ask for them! Next time stick to the assignment and leave your corny fantasies out of this.
Additional Comments: I wonder what sort of ham brained screening process could have let somebody like Owse through? If you're going to save money by outsourcing important work to children, at least make sure they have some clue about what it is they are supposed to be drawing. Illustrations of strange mythological bird-koala-deer hybrids are not useful in the medical profession!
Final Grade: F-
John, Age 5
People have hands at the end of their arms, not hearts. I don't know how anyone could possibly get confused about something like that, but John managed to do it. I'm guessing his mind was elsewhere – probably thinking about love – and he let his passion get the best of his important work for our government. I fear that this medical illustration might get mixed in with real ones, and some unsuspecting doctor or student might accidentally graft a human heart to somebody's wrist. A procedure such as that would be downright dangerous and apt to result in serious medical complications. John is being incredibly negligent here, and I for one hope he is reprimanded.
Additional Comments: John tried to give this picture a lot of extra heart, but unfortunately he was entirely too literal about it.
Final Grade: F
Joshua, Age 6
This drawing depicts some sort of man-goose at the exact moment a bullet pierces its head. This picture is no less chilling than the Zapruder film or the fabled Vietnam execution picture, as it captures the exact moment of someone's death. Beyond that ghastly display, the rest of this poor creature is just as harrowing. The organs seem to be held in place by the spine in a shish kabob fashion, while the legs act as bent rakes with little if any articulation. The arms, too, are nearly immobile, acting merely as rigid antennas. Frankly, I don’t think I've ever seen such an inaccurate depiction of man-goose anatomy.
Additional Comments: Joshua's fascination with death is quite unsettling and completely out of place in this medium. The goal is to show internal anatomy as it is in some natural state – either life or death – and not as it is transitioning between the two. There is no need for such action to be displayed, as it is quite gratuitous and distracting.
Final Grade: F
Johnny, Age 6
Lastly, we have this bizarre contribution from Johnny, who inadvertently answers the question, "what would Charlie Brown look like if he was consumed by the Akira spirit?"
Okay, so maybe not.
What we do have here is a rather queer looking creature with a faceless Charlie Brown head, duck legs, two jointless yet pliable arms, and tentacles. No, this isn't the next stage in Michael Jackson's ongoing mutation, though that may seem like the only logical answer. Instead it's 6-year-old Johnny's take on humans, and boy is it ever a departure from the norm. At least he went to the effort of including some actual internal organs in his illustration. We can make out a freestanding heart, two lungs, and a purple pipe that runs from the lungs to a yellow sack. I assume that's a backup tank for oxygen. The tentacles are an interesting addition, but perhaps I am taking those red lines too literally. Johnny might have simply drawn them in as action lines, to denote the frantic action of the human body's myriad of autonomic functions. It's difficult to tell, and I simply don't care enough to try to figure out just what imaginative Johnny's intentions were. I'm more concerned with the fact that human and duck anatomy is so gosh darn similar.
Additional Comments: You make an awful medical illustration, Charlie Brown!
Final Grade: F
I've done my part, so now it's up to you! Like always, preventive action starts early and definitely before the action, which is weird because you have to prevent the action with action. It's a complicated concept not unlike the various complicated concepts Stephen Hawking thinks about when he's getting sponge baths or not being beaten. Why some adults allow kids to waste paper and precious crayon wax, which I imagine we have to import from Iraq or some other dangerous place, I have no idea. So I ask all of you to be responsible, not just for your own kids, but for all the children of the world. If you see a child expressing creativity, slap them so hard your hand hurts. Worse, if you see a child drawing, steal away their drawing tool, snap it and half, and startle the hell out of them by shouting "this is why God is dead!" If you want to truly get through to them, scare them with threats of a dire future riddled with failure. You know, something juicy like, "Do you want to end up like Wil Wheaton? Because you're on an express train to Wheatonville!" Although such statements are largely meaningless, they will no doubt shock the child and potentially scar him or her for life. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and we have to protect or sacred languages from abuse.
P.S. Before you get the urge to play a hard boiled Internet cop and issue a citizens arrest for the serious crime of plagiary, just take a moment to note that I started writing these here art critique articles months before any other site to my knowledge did and therefore since I did it first I'm not the one who is stealing. Unless of course you know about my time machine, in which case, no, I cannot give you a ride to Woodstock, man. For those of you wondering what I'm talking about, don't worry; I'm not going to jail just yet.
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Hey negroes, it's your old pal Taylor "Psychosis" Bell here to drop an all-new review on your ass! This week's game is called The Adventures of Captain Comic, and let me tell you, it isn't pretty.
As it turns out, your gun isn’t really broken. The only reason it won’t fire is that the number of bullets you can have on the screen at any one time is determined by how many “Blastola Colas” you drink. At the beginning you haven’t drunk any, so while you can still technically shoot and deplete the weapon meter, nothing comes out of your stupid cola-powered gun, so all you can do is jump around and try to avoid the hordes of angry suicidal birds and earthworms. Once you find your first Blastola Cola, you’ll be able to kill almost every enemy by simply walking to the right and constantly firing, since the enemies spawn on the right side of the screen directly in the path of your shots. There’s a weapon meter that’s supposed to discourage this kind of behavior, but all that does is force you to occasionally stop for two seconds to recharge.
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it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
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