The Sidewalk Art of the Underprivileged

Sometimes, when the comedy is elusive and the jokes just aren’t flowing, inspiration must be sought. When I’m in this situation I don’t pussyfoot. I turn straight to the poor. Poor people are comedy gold. Bring poor children into the picture, and Dave Chapelle better think about adding a few banana-peel slips to his Rick James shit if he wants to go toe to toe. TV’s Bill Cosby was right—kids DO say the darndest things! They draw some pretty hilarious shit too. When they haven’t ingested anything besides Food Lion store-brand soft drinks and second-hand smoke for the last few months, things go from hilarious “ha-ha” to the kind of hilarious that causes your mom to pull you aside and remind you that it’s not polite to stare. Check this out, bitches:




From a safe distance this playful little pavement mural looks like a whimsical collection of mirth and merriment from the magical mind of a child, but while the sidewalk art’s tractor beam of insanity slowly draws you in, you come to a frightening realization as you approach: “That’s no moon. Its a space station.” Let’s take a closer look at some sidewalk chalk art from the hands and minds of the children living at Charlotte’s most prominently underprivileged apartment complex. Please note that in the above sentence, the term “Charlotte’s most prominently underprivileged” can be interchanged with “my.”






Wow. I’ve always thought that kids’ drawings were reserved for their favoritest things ever, like dinosaurs or lightsaber battles. I don’t remember exactly what I was drawing on my Trapper Keepers in the back row during social studies, but I guarantee it wasn’t coupons.

You know you’re the head of a broke-ass household when your kid is so into discounts that he fantasizes about them in his chalk art. Don’t get me wrong, I went batshit crazy when Harris Teeter knocked their PBR tallboys down to 89 cents, but I didn’t come home and write about it on the pavement. Shit, I didn’t even draw a picture of Katie Holmes’ tits on my driveway after I saw The Gift, much less the fifty cents I saved by buying the large popcorn and the drink together.





Considering that the word “discount” is celebrated three inches to her left, I’ve decided that the picture of the girl crying her eyes out is our artist’s self-portrait. Or, it’s very possible that the artist is from the richest family ever, and her bedroom just happens to be right beneath my bathroom. Either way would explain the crying.





The.

Well said, Corky.





Look—kids don’t just write the word “Anis” in the parking lot. They just don’t. I don’t care if this kid’s mom and dad are both the world’s leading butt surgeons, this is just not acceptable.

Right now you are reading an article written by a guy who lives at an apartment complex where the word “anis” is prominently written in a parking space. And it never fails—that space is always the only one that’s ever free. Whether I’m coming home or going out, I always seem to get stuck with it. Motherfucker, I pull in and out of the “Anis space” so many times a day that by definition I could probably accurately be called homosexual.

In all seriousness, you don’t have to be Indiana Jones to see the hidden message here. Discount…picture of a girl crying…followed by the words “the anis. Ahhh!!!” Looking back, I probably should’ve phoned Social Services after viewing this sidewalk art. There’s more than enough evidence in it to get a conviction. Instead, I stood around and laughed about how that thing towards the top of the third picture down totally looks like a penis.