imagine
Never in a quadrillion years could Johnny Bravo Thunderpants imagine a mother who harbored so much ill will for a human creation in which she brought life.
Inspirational love growth moments were sautéed with mother’s disdain for her own flesh and blood father advocating inquiry into the overall breadth of the ancient Christianity pablum JBT had been spoon fed and conditioned by.
Decades of hope-filled sermons pitted with delicate churched repose alluded to unconditional love for everyone, especially those pew soldiers who contributed cash money across atrophied wicker collection baskets of altruistic enlightenment in the physical form of dead paper presidents.
Love evolved into stages filled with smokeless illusions Johnny Bravo’s mother ceremoniously performed on days painted with primal charlatan flow.
Inhalation of toxic wisps from unholy incense sticks saturated collared altar men in regal velvety robes who shouted atop most high about eternal implications from insidious hate, sin, and evil while fellow hallowed brethren were laicized for improper fornication hobbies.
Addictions impaled Johnny’s fragile worlds, systematically collapsing fabricated protection blankets hand-stitched by Aesop’s fables.
Maturity blew out millions of whimsical lights having once illuminated naïve landscapes seasoned with joy boy smile dreams.
Gambling was bequeathed to Thunderpants by his devout mother and father while he unwillingly maneuvered across caustic adulting platforms evading personal responsibility.
Blame will never succumb as Bravo Thunderpant’s excuse weapon in his arsenal of free thought defense which labored throughout intrepidation canyons beckoning lethargic serendipity modules to energize.
Instinctual desires pillaged for unconditional love often flexed by Johnny’s proper family, continuously failing in the purging of their of own hate and judgment, ultimately poisoned infernal wishing wells for generations to scrub.
In the God smacked world presented to insufferable Bravo Thunderpants, he would imagine his mother’s perceived love to be a tick fuller with empathy.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadow lands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with crunchy cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within a splintered transportation module that screams along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.
Artwork by Wallbanger
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