Non-Graff Artwork

[SATIRE]

Stuff you drew, painted, scrawled that isn't really graff

 

[PASC]

A collab piece with a close friend. He asked that I add monster heads to the humans. This piece was very small and detailed.

 

[JoshE]

Commission canvas I painted a couple years ago.

 

[JUNO]

My recent work

 

[Andy B]

It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but this is a hobby I've taken on in the past couple of years.

 

[Matt Wright]

A canvas from a few years back named "Cantor"

 

[JUNO]

Using colored pencils

 

[SATIRE]

 

[JUNO]

 

[SATIRE]

 

[SATIRE]

 

[Juggleroner03]

My abstract drawing works

 

[Juggleroner03]

Outfit sketchin, bad guy with a baseball bat and a psychedelic drawin

I saw a dude who was wearin a bullet belt and it was fuckin cool

 

[Juggleroner03]

Saturday drawin

 

[Andy B]

I finished this Mazda RX-7 last month. Made it like the one from the Fast and the Furious.

 

[PASC]

Oooh, that's dope. I nodded an EG a couple of months ago.

 

[Tenix]

Oooh, that's dope. I nodded an EG a couple of months ago.
View attachment 10921View attachment 10922

Dope paint job

 

[PASC]

Dope paint job

Im bringing back NOPI NATS 2001 with that paint LOL. I stripped it down, painted it black then used a shifting color spray paint.

 

[SATIRE]

 

[Sir Mildred Pierce]

This Strawberry & Gustave adventure is just for you, buddy! (Didn't know where else to post it)

Family Friendly​

Red Hook. Mets game on mute. A man eats chowder like it’s a moral anchor. And here come the boys.

Darryl:
You remember the last time we were here? Soup guy over there looked up mid-slurp like he’d just seen his god die in a karaoke bar.

Gustave (already smirking):
Oui. Because I told the joke. My opus. My TED Talk on familial collapse and body horror.

Darryl (suddenly realizing):
Oh no. You’re not—

Gustave (too late now):
Mesdames et messieurs… voilà.

Darryl (head in hands):
Goddammit, you are. You’re actually doing it again.

Gustave (addressing the whole bar):
A family walks into a talent agent’s office. The father? Retired magician turned street hypnotist who only works on pigeons. The mother? Used to tightrope between eviction notices. Now she sells hummus sourced from a haunted co-op. The son’s a failed gymnast with joints like wet celery. The daughter teaches interpretive knife ballet in an abandoned Spirit Halloween.

Darryl:
There’s soup in that man’s mouth right now, Gustave.

Gustave:
And it will curdle. The show begins: the mother opens with a squat thrust and pulls a vintage trombone from her cul sacré. The father enters on a Roomba, nude but for a boa and a Bluetooth headset, screaming “Je suis l’économie gig!” The son throws glitter into a ceiling fan like it’s a legal defense. The daughter, bless her, dons a Chewbacca mask and screams, “Liberté, égalité, et Sodome!”

Darryl:
You gotta stop weaponizing the French Revolution.

Gustave:
The dog starts barking La Marseillaise, but backwards. They all lube themselves in foie gras, expired conditioner, and CVS-brand lube labeled “for emergencies only.” In the background, a faint voice mutters, “This content may violate our community standards.” The daughter spins like a haunted dreidel, shouting “Kill the algorithm!” The son reverse-twerks into a kiddie pool filled with warm tapioca, broken Heelys, and despair. The mother? She’s licking a parking meter and whispering “Elon Musk isn’t real.”

Darryl:
Your profanity chip’s glitching again. You need to fucking reboot.

Gustave (relishing it):
The father shouts “WATCH ME JUGGLE BAGUETTES, CAPITALISM!” and whips out three, steaming, from parts unknown. The dog vomits up confetti. The daughter tongue-kisses a Furby. The son unplugs the jukebox and yells “I AM THE BLOCKCHAIN NOW!”

Darryl:
This is like if Terry Gilliam directed a circus meltdown and a sex crime.

Gustave:
The mother starts a solo conga line. The father pisses into a kazoo playing Toxic in D minor. The son swan-dives into a bin of VHS tapes labeled “WET & VAGUELY LEGAL.” The daughter’s screaming “JE SUIS UN CONCEPT!” while the dog humps a replica Eiffel Tower with the haunted grace of a Civil War widow.

Darryl:
Reset. Seriously. Hit the fucking button.

Gustave (arms wide, possessed):
They form a human pyramid. Someone combusts. Someone climaxed. Someone gave birth to a Yelp review. There’s glitter, blood, piss, tapioca, ideology, and tears.

The talent agent, wide-eyed and clutching a flask of Everclear, asks cautiously:
“What… what do you call this act?”

Gustave (screaming):
“LES ARISTOCRATS!!”

[Soup guy goes rigid and drops his spoon. Bartender already dialing. Darryl sighs like a man watching a garbage fire in slow motion.]

Darryl:
Reset your profanity chip, Gustave. Right the fuck now.

Gustave (flickering):
—[BZZZT] SYSTEM RESTARTING—
...
...
Bonjour! Je suis Meta AI. How may I assist you with safe, family-friendly nonsense?

Darryl (chuckling):
You motherfucking disgrace.

Gustave (smug):
Enculé professionnel depuis 1981.

Bartender (pointing):
OUT.

---

Darryl (on the sidewalk):
You yelled “liberté, égalité, et Sodome” in a bar where a man was just trying to eat clam chowder and feel alive.

Gustave:
Oui. And next time, I bring slides. TEDx: Bushwick. Let’s go.