I don't like high art. I don't understand it. Never did, never will. How someone could pay some unemployed pothead money to paint a fucking cow is beyond me, but that's just what happened in my sleeply little state of Connecticut.

Something called Cows on Parade invaded the town next to me, and I felt a absurdly gay opportunity that shouldn't be missed.

The following is my review on this so called art exhibit. Join me as I uncover the truth behind why fairly normal idiot potheads would waste plenty of good pot smoking/Nintendo time on repackaging a dirty, smelly, stinking animal into an avant garde craptacular.

You know how cows usually piss milk? Well the artist here is implying that this cow here pisses OJ. This is so cow-weer. Geddit?

And you thought Rosie O'Donnelly was the only Irish cow there was.

This is a beautiful piece, of flowers, and nature, and blue skies...

.....along those same lines, here's my ass.

Look out kids, here comes the State of Cow-necticut cow!!!! His special skill are to bore you to death, and tax the shit out of you to fund garbage like himself.

Wow, trippy maaaan. This cow's like, far out. It's also like, 50 billion dollars of my taxpaying money.

This bizarre piece of shit is suppose to be the Old State house in downtown Hartford. Whoever thought of the idea for this should be locked up in Guantanamo Bay with the terrorists. Udderly ridiculous.

This one is called Moooove Over Jackson Pollock

You thought I was fucking kidding, didn't you?

Well that concludes my review of the Cows on Parade spectacular. Today we've learned that all art is shit, and the people we give our tax dollars to are crack addicts.

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