Tag Archives | surrealism

The loneliness of the long distance rabbit

sad rabbit with combat boots sitting in front of a store by IntangibleArts
wabbit weldschmerz, a photo by IntangibleArts on Flickr.

The stats were daunting.

The average breeding season for rabbits is 9 months (10 in Newfoundland). Gestation time is 30 days. Each litter produces somewhere between 4 to 12 kits (baby rabbits). It takes 4 to 5 weeks to wean those bad boys (and girls), and then the mothers are ready to mate again. In six months the does (female rabbits) born in the first round of mating (which sadly only takes 30 seconds), will be ready to mate themselves. Each mating season, a doe could produce up to 800 children. [wiki]

All of whom would someday be going to college.

Alltop can mate in 30 seconds too, but only if it can keep the combat boots on.

René Magritte: Meditations on the Nether Beast From Dimension X

This is not a pipe
Many have taken this iconic painting by the Belgian surrealist to be a commentary on the treacherous nature of the image — it makes you believe one thing, while hiding the reality of the image beneath.

The caption, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” or “This is not a pipe” is factually accurate — it is, in fact, a painting of a pipe. Magritte himself once said, “of course it’s not a pipe you cretin, just try to fill it with pipe-weed.” (Magritte was an immense fan of the Tolkien oeuvre, which he read in its entirety, about a decade before it was written.)

Of course, Magritte was lying.

In his home dimension, it was quite possible to fill a painting of a pipe with “smokables” and enjoy a good puff while watching the Nether Beast destroy ancient civilizations, the concept of solitude, and a slice of cheesecake slathered in raspberry confit.

Check out more Famous Paintings with SF Titles here

Alltop has no idea what confit is, but it sounds tasty, as does Nether anything.

The Forest Primeval

Jerome the Hyper-BaboonWas that a smile on Jeremy’s face, or was the photographer from Interstellar Geographic just anthropomorphizing?

He couldn’t even say why he’d named it Jeremy. It just seemed right. Could the simian before him actually feel the way that he did, think philosophical thoughts? Did the Hyper-Baboon have hopes, dreams? Was it possible that the creature even had a conception of time and space?

Then the other monkey triggered the landmine; pieces of baboon flesh scattered in all directions.

Jeremy grinned, walked up to the photographer and said: “Actually, I prefer Jerome, and that fucker was sleeping with my wife.”

You will find more monkey madness at the Carnival of the Insanities. And if baboonish humor is your thing, then check out humor-blogs.com. Photo credit: Broma.