Today I will be talking about a very revolutionary piece of art I recently drew. I call it the Happy Puzzle.


It's a symbol of a better tomorrow. The pieces are the next generation, our kids, working together to build the future. Each of them is an instrumental piece, and without any one of them, the whole suffers. The future is bright and happy. It's also a puzzle. A happy puzzle. No one has a problem with this future, do they?



That's right. I bet you didn't even notice this guy. Of course you didn't; no one does. No one cares about him, and I bet you didn't give him a second thought you sick son of a bitch. Do you know why he's unhappy? I bet you think he hates this future, that he's a menace to society. Maybe he refuses to get a job or is the kind of guy who stands on the left side of the escalator and just DOESN'T FUCKING MOVE BLOCKING ANYONE WHO WANTS TO GO FASTER.


That's wrong.

Look at those edges.


Look at those mother fucking edges. He's got round little puzzle-thingys coming out of him, while everyone else has square ones. He can't fit in. There's no room for him in this future. You think anyone cares? No one cares. The other puzzle pieces don't fucking care. Look at those smiles.


Now look at him.


Do you feel bad yet? Look at him again.


And again.


And again.


Wait, what? Yes. That's right. That's the same puzzle piece. I bet you were just starting to feel bad for him, just starting to cast him as the victim in a society so caught up in its success it'd rather lie and pretend the bad didn't exist to ease its immense cognitive dissonance. I'd expect something like that from you. Now you see him in a different light. He's an angry, vengeful  mother fucker. Don't believe me? Look again!


And what about the rest of them?


"What are those faces?" you're probably asking. They're not smiles any more  They're not even faces any more. They're contorted and confused. He made them that way. You think his edges are round because he's a misfit? No sir, not even a little. Their edges were round once too, but he took scissors and cut up all the puzzle pieces until they lost their nice plumpy curves, a quality much prized by the Victorian upper class before "slim" was "in."  That's right, he's the king and they're all the peasants. Look at him standing so high in the corner. Which corner? The right corner. Right as in correct, as in right of way, as in I can do whatever the fuck I want and no one can do shit.

Don't let him fool you. You came close, but I saved you from ignorance. I showed you the way. I'm right, you're wrong. That's what this picture says.

It's art.

For my next artistic challenge, I'll be drawing a cute kitty :)