Shocking. No hairs, veins or spunk.
Gerry1time will be most irate.
It is interesting to note, that as our nation slides inexorably towards a new future as a land almost entirely divorced from our nearest neighbours, perhaps more separate than we have been for many thousands of years, a new yet self-imposed storegga slide if you will, our depictions of big veiny cocks with all spunk coming out the end are at once already beginning to diverge from the standards long shared with our continental confreres.
One only has to look back at the nascent beginnings of our Roman influenced ancestry, where big tummy bananas of exacting length and often mirthful girth were inscribed uniformly from the Tiber to the Tyne, and all points inbetween. Through then to the cruder and more debased pork swords and purple headed warriors of the dark ages and Anglo-Saxons, since profoundly rescued by Da Vinci in the renaissance, whose exacting anatomical observations gave us both the three hairs eminating from each clockweight, and the sadly now long forgotten banjo string, often relatively insignificant in size, yet always perfectly conformed to the golden ratio of the wider work.
On such scholarly foundations were indeed based the initial discussions of our nation's union with the early Europe, a movement founded on the idea of ever closer integration of veinyness, pube curlage and shaft bend. Indeed, if it hadn't of been for Margaret Thatcher fighting Britain's case so strongly throughout the 1980's, and the Blair government continuing her legacy (in the face, so to speak, of Gordon Brown), then it is unlikely that our standards would still include the classic three lines eminating from the crown, given Jacques Delors' desire to do away with any reference to sticky white love piss in a quid pro quo for the abolition of the reference to a herman gelmet. As the iron lady once said, "Every Prime Minister needs a Willie with all spunk coming out the end", although the quotation was often in practice truncated for publication.
Returning thus to the piece at hand, we can see how rapidly standards crumble once free of their legislative bounds. The work is but a mere three loops, crudely and quickly drawn, pointed at a mouth, perhaps exploring ideas of getting a quick chewie off of your new special friend at 2am whilst waiting for the last bus home. At once evocative of the reality of such a meagre scene, the work lacks a visible climax, the three dotted lines are startlingly absent, and it is simultaneously disappointing, flaccid and limp, as if resigned to its fate forging a solitary furrow through life, replete with uncertainties of its future, confusion around its past, and a desperate attempt to remember what her name is. An alegory from our departure from Europe if ever one were to be found.
But yet at once is there not within this work the potential seeds of a new beginning for the field of big veiny cocks with all spunk coming out the end? The artist has, through the usage of three simple loops, evocatively suggested the new triumvirate of power within this very nation; The Commons, The Lords and the Supreme Court. Is not the simplicity of the piece thus a call to arms for the simplicity of a new nation, stripped of its European bureaucracy, now free to forge its own path and draw tallywhackers in any way it may see fit? One may at this point reflect however on the true nature of the European Union, and its own triumvirate of the Parliament, Commission and Court of Justice. Perhaps, just perhaps, the artist is pointing a way back to a more standardised future, where Britain and continental Europe shall once more realise that more unites us than divides us, and one day be reunited through the medium of crudely scrawled purple headed womb brooms jizzing all baby batter and that.
tldr
inews.co.uk
www.bbc.co.uk
www.thesportsman.com
www.foottheball.com
