Pablo Picasso's Personal Painted Portrait Paramour Parody

Sacre bleu! What is that old man doing up there? You know, the elderly tenant who rents my second floor apartment (the one with the squeaky door and the toilet that leeks). Well, that old Picasso man, he calls himself an artist... the critics call him an 'artist extraordinaire', and them big-spender art buyers who spend lots of money on his little paintings think he's an artist worth investing in, they say. Do I call him an artist!? Artist? Hardly! When I had him paint the bedroom wall, he spilled paint all over the floor and got more paint on himself than on the wall! Took me a couple of days to clean-up his mess. Artist?

 

Now Mr. Artist-man is up there paintin' that self portrait of himself. Don't look like anything I recognize in this abstract cubism world in which we live. The artist-man likes to call it 'tonal realism' for all that means to me. Don't mean anything to me! I don't live in that 3D world with it's lights and shadows and everything in between. To me it's just nothin' more than a made-up world which only exists inside the old man's head. I sure don't want to know what else is inside that head! That's why I keep my bedroom door locked at night.

 

Worst of all... Pablo always makes a big stinkin' mess when he paints... just like I told you already! You know who's gonna be cleanin' up all that spilled paint, turpentine, and cigarette butts! Perhaps I should raise his rent once again. Heaven knows he's got plenty of money.

 

Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do... git my piece of that big ol' Picasso money pie!

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Done