Let's turn murder into money.
The brittle-boned virgins who used to run the Philly art scene have been run out of town. Now it's me in my capacity as Michael Nutter's newly appointed art czar and my trusty Winston Churchill-faced, cigar-smoking, quizzo-organizing English bulldog Johnny Shit Times prowling the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia in our shabby Dickensian costumes and dispensing instant art-justice with our fists, boots and horribly yellowed teeth.
Hear ye! Hear ye! Here is our all-new five-step report The Future of the Arts in Philly (the result of a 72-hour gin-drinking and opium-eating binge in the company of the city's finest whores).
1) Shut the fuck up with your anti-duck propaganda.
The saddest people in Philly are the po-faced puritans who mock the XXXL T-shirt-wearing Christian scum who tour our streets in WWII-era amphibious vehicles, being fed lies about Philly history by pig ignorant so-called guides and blowing into plastic quackers every time they see someone with tattoos and get frightened. Let's give them quackers and megaphones, sez I. "Rowf!" barks Johnny Shit Times in agreement as he licks his own balls with long, langorous, lingering strokes of his soft and malleable tongue. Oh my.
2) Leave the Barnes the fuck where it is. It's unique. It's mental. It's full of fascist tour guides who scream abuse at you if they suspect you're "listening in." It's Philly.
3) Enough of this pathetic compromise. Put the Rocky statue at the top of the Art Museum stairs. To not do so is to continue to deny that Rocky is one of the greatest works of art ever produced in this city. And that's ludicrous.
4) Ban the disgusting dog-food-in-a-bun so-called "Philly" cheesesteak and replace it with real filet mignon steak in fresh baguette with salad. This sick culinary joke has gone on long enough.
5) Scared to come to Philly because of the murder rate? Hey, the NRA gives us lemons, let's make lemonade. Let's turn our biggest problem into an asset. I'm talking urban safaris. We pack the visiting Christians into bulletproofed buses and take them on a tour of the gun-violence-plagued mean streets of "bad" Philly.
In reality we'll just take them to NoLibs, where hipsters in blackface, dressed as pimps and wearing '70s-style afro wigs, will take pot-shots at each other with blanks--and spurt arterial "blood" all over the windows when shot. The tourists will never know the difference.
Then we could "rapture" the bastards at the end by having several "ringers" whisked off to heaven with invisible ropes, leaving the rest shitting themselves that they've been "left behind." In big bad Philly. Johnny Shit Times will be the Antichrist and I will play Satan. Mwah ha ha ha!