The Snake Eaters Daughter

Chapter 1 ~ The Avant-Garde Art Show From Hell

"Art is what you can get away with." ~Andy Warhol

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If you would have told me ahead of time, that all this crazy crap would kick off the night of some lame ass avant-garde art show? I probably would have told you to "Go burn in Hell!". But if I am being honest, I was in a seriously dark mood for a long time before that fateful night. I probably told a whole lot of people to go burn in Hell back then. So it's not like you would have been a special snowflake or anything. Hell, who am I kidding? I probably would have told you to burn in Hell, if you told me the sky was blue. Or even worse, if you were dumb enough to tell me to have a nice day? But the sad truth is it did all start that night at the lame ass avant-garde art show, so I see no point in lying about it now.

To date, I have been in Woodland Hills for all of twelve days total, when this Tri-Valley School District art shit show came up. When Lotte, the lighter half of my new lesbian co-parenting paradigm copped out of this crap, claiming she had to work late. Which I'm now thinking was a total lie, in order to avoid the absolute awfulness of avant-garde art. So I am left alone in the care of Christina or "Rina", the darker half of the dynamic duo. Unfortunately for me, Rina is some très chic artisté chick and one of the judges for this horrible little high school shitshow.

Personally, I think Lotte was just trying to get out of either the art show or spending quality TV time alone with me at "my new home". Either way, she pulled the pin and bailed off the crazy train, leaving me alone with her girlfriend Rina for the night. And as we were all still super new to each other's bad habits, it's not like the dynamic duo really trusted me to be home alone. Because now that I was officially an orphan, there was no telling what kind of trouble I could get into next?

Like for instance, I might write out my very own personal version of "13 Reasons Why Not Just Kill The Rapist Instead?". Or maybe sneak off and shoot some of that good smelling heroin with sparkling virgin vegan vampires in the forking fairy forest? Or I could always join an Anonymous online Bloody Crips gang and hack the planet with Wikileaks?

I mean let's face it, the bad life choices left to a fifteen-year-old teenage girl in the middle of nowhere Northern California, are almost as endless as the foreign film selection on Netflix. Freaky French Weirdo, Korean Crime Drama, or Columbian Cartel Telenovelas, with Pablo Escobar shooting shit up in Medellín. In my humble opine, you really can't go wrong with any of those, for learning to curse in a second language.

But unfortunately for all involved, instead of watching my personal hero Darryl Dixon, looking for a little love in a Zombie Apocalypse. I am dragged along by Rina to the county art museum for "A Night of the Talents of Tomorrow". Translation: The end of the year shitshow for local high school artists. Who couldn't art their way out of a wet paper bag, if their life depended on it. Oh, and the all-you-can-eat crapy complimentary shrimp appetizers.

In other words, a bunch of no talent pretentious wannabe Warhol's that live too close to San Francisco. Who unfortunately think that this proximity entitles them to share their artistic visions with the rest of the lame ass artisté assholeós. Thinking it's all about them, instead of a complete waste of federal funding for kids who don't play sports.

As if that wasn't already bad enough? All these wannabe Wharol's, are all dressed up in depressing black with retro leather jackets. Probably because they all thought, that's how "real artistés" should look, like a bunch of pretentious Da Da clones. I mean seriously, can clones even be pretentious? How is that even a thing?

In my personal opinion, the only cool clone that ever existed was Roy Batty from the Bladerunner. His "Tears in the Rain" death soliloquy speech was simply to die for. And just like Roy, all these clones should have already had their expiration date ticket punched too. So that "all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Oh well ...time to die".