Living statues

Living Statues are tedious, talentless cunts, aren’t they.

The first glimpse of Spring and I’ve already seen a “Living Statue.’ If you’ve never seen one (lucky you), they’re “artists” who dress up/paint themselves as something famous, stand still on a plinth and expect you to place money in a hat.

No, that’s it. That’s all they do. Sometimes it’s intriguing for a second or two while you work out just how they’re “floating” but it’s either a drab, dull answer or you feel the breath of a pickpocket on your neck.

I actually used to approach them and appear to be dropping in a nugget, but then freeze, mid action. I’d hold the pose and watch them squirm a bit before fucking off, chuckling.

Lazy bastards.

Fuck me, at least do something! Move, dance, busk, sing! Anything! Don’t just paint yourself gold with a wreath on your head and stand like an twat expecting coinage.

‘Artist’ my arse! Bone-idle, indolent cunt, more like.

nominated by Captain Magnanimous (neighbourhood watch sandford)

102 thoughts on “Living statues

  1. There’s a guy who turns up in Manchester City Centre every now and then with one of those jarg electric keyboards.

    Sometimes he’s dresses as Mario, sometimes Darth Vader, more recently he’s been a ninja turtle.

    He plays the theme music for whoever he’s dresses as at high speed over and over again for hours, at very high speed.

    It’s fucking impressive and awesome, and he’s a fucking shining example to street performers worldwide.

    Legend. Fucking total legend.

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