In this monologue, Ultimate Jackass is a man who still has not found his true calling. He is a quirky man of sorts but whatever he does in his life comes from sincerity.
ULTIMATE JACKASS: I was walking around for two days thinking I was Picasso, when really what I was, was a major jackass. I went to this store out in Long Island, Michael’s and I spent a couple of hundred bucks on supplies. I was so serious about it–bought three large canvases, brushes, paints, paint cleaner, spray paint and markers. Don’t ask me why but markers. I went out to the bookstore, bought a few fifty dollar books on Basquiat and Pop Art and I was doing all this reading and researching. I actually began feeling like I had a calling.
I set up shop in my backyard, right against this big beautiful tree. I tore open the paints and squeezed out red and yellow paint into my palette. I dipped one of my brushes into my palette—I look up and into my canvas and it hit me–I asked myself as I stared at this large white canvas, “What the fuck am I doing?” It was like a spell had been broken. I felt silly and I started looking around and into the windows of neighbors houses, because I felt like I was being watched and sure enough there she was, a little girl named Meagan peering at me from her second floor story bedroom window. She had the look of disgust written across her face, so, to kind of, I don’t know, not feel inadequate in front of this child, I decided to prove to her that I could paint. It was as if I needed this child’s approval. Don’t ask me why. Maybe I’m just crazy but I did. I wanted this kid to say, “Good job Joe, you’re a fucking Picasso, alright!”
So, I began painting a tree, with a beautiful blue sky and a bright yellow sun and I looked up at her when I was done and she moved her head back and forth, like a Queen who wasn’t happy with the performer that stood before her. She nodded her head from side to side and slowly closed her window shut. Plus, plus she closed the curtains.
Well, I felt like a total shit heel by this point. I looked at my canvas and realized that the kid was right. I was a depressing artist. I couldn’t even make a cute kid smile. I became confused, even disoriented and I grabbed the other canvas and figured why not EXPRESS my inner turmoil. And I viciously squirted out more red paint and I snatched the biggest brush I could find, dipped it in my palette and began splashing the paint on canvas reminiscent of Jackson Pollack—so I thought! I became increasingly frustrated and continued splashing paint onto the canvas until finally I stepped back to look at my masterpiece and I had no choice but to admit to myself that I had no talent whatsoever. To put it bluntly, I sucked so bad, so, so BAD. Christ! I’m horrible, really. Horrible. I must have been smoking crack!
I was fed up by this point and so I began packing up everything in angst. Next thing I know, I got ahead of myself from feeling so lousy, that I slipped on paint, which was on top of the plastic sheet I used to cover the grass and I slipped in such a way that the palette I was holding, full of paint mind you, came crashing down on top of me, after I collided with the friendly fucking tree nearby, finishing off on my back with the paint showing off its own Jackson Pollack skills, for the grand finale!!!
After a moment of mentally checking my body parts for damage, I hear giggling. You guessed it! LITTLE MEAGAN, laughing up a storm, this time accompanied by two more laughing munchkins, who must have been her cousins or friends from munchkin land or what have you. I jumped up and growled at them and they fled the scene of the crime.
Despite the twigs that were buried in my ass, I was fine.
(he gives a thumbs up)
Needless to say, I threw out my canvas…went back into the house, washed up and moved on to my new adventure.
That was two days, Picasso Reincarnated, better known as Ultimate Jackass.