When that empty-headed, knuckle-dragging Little League coach came forward to boast about having an affair with Larry King's wife in Larry King's bedroom while watching the Larry King show, an unfortunate image emblazoned itself in my tender innocent brain. I was reminded of how I felt when I used to sneak peaks at the cartoons in my Dad's hidden Playboy stash. Feeling slightly shocked and confused upon first viewing, I would later erupt into uncontrolled giggles and then quickly shove the magazines back into his sock drawer before being caught.
I saw Hector Penate humping Shawn Southwick, her giant mouth unhinged in screams of pleasure, their writhing bodies illuminated in the cold glare of Larry's giant head looming over them on the big screen TV. As they tossed each other around on Larry's satin sheet-bedecked adjustable bed, they were careful not to knock over the glass containing Larry's floating dentures perched on his crowded pharmaceutical nightstand. Hector was so sexually charged by the warthog-like glowing visage of Larry's scowling mug that he bursts into o-facelike a wolf howling at the moon. Larry's monogrammed velvet slippers sit neatly beside the bed, unaware of the carnal sin and forbidden pleasure ensuing above. Medium: digital painting on top of graphite sketch.
