Your Modern American painter is so fat...
An email exchange gone horribly wrong:
Louise Robertson:: She expects everyone to be on the same page as she is and her page is written the way Jackson Pollock painted pictures, except she's not as verbose. *
Me: I chuckled out loud at [your] Pollock reference.
"Motherfucker, you write like Jackson Pollock paints, but with less to say...and that's sayin' a lot."
Okay, your turn again: "You write like Jackson Pollock paints..."
Louise: You write like Jackson Pollock paints, just not [as] accessible.
Me: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: by accident.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints. What do you do throw the pencil at the page?
M: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: with a form that borders on reckless abandon that, upon occasion,
evokes vomit.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: you do it in the shed with a lot of tubes of gooey stuff.
S: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: like shit.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: Put it up on the wall and people say: "I could do that."
M: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: with no regard to form, history or style.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: I know I'm supposed to like it, but I don't.
M: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: chilly.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: Is that a fish in your name? Or do you just stink?
M: You write like Jackson Pollock paints: drunk.
L: You write like Jackson Pollock paints, but you won't get famous after you die alone, obscure, penniless, and disrespected.
M: You write like Jackson Pollock paints, and it will probably drive your wife out of the house, too.
NOTE #1: I actually like a lot of Pollock's work. I just like this joke more.
NOTE #2: * No, this isn't about YOU. Calm down. Or not; it's your heart attack.