Page 23 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

This was not how I wanted to make a name for myself.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

S.K.A.M.

Ididn’t need to read the article to know I was gonna be fucking pissed off. The headline blared loudly at me, like a slap in my motherfucking face.

But what can I say?

I was a glutton for punishment.

Despite every line twisting and tightening like barbed wire around my stomach, firing my rage, I read that motherfucker over and over again.

S.K.A.M.? More Like Scam Artist!

For a world-renowned artist, who prides himself on being unique, S.K.A.M. really let himself down with his prideful, or should that be, overly contrived and cliched performance at the recent Void Art Exhibition.

We were promised something groundbreaking. What we got was... meh. A self-indulgent display that dragged on and on and on.

This artist, in my humble opinion, is grossly overhyped. His words were predictable, his rhymes both corny and uninspiring. He thought he was being edgy, preaching to a demographic that weren’t in attendance that night. Trying to connect with those less fortunate, but the unfortunate fools were the ones who had to stand in the cold, plainly decorated courtyard and endure his drivel.

Fools like me.

The only successful connection he made through his performance was with the wall at the end, where he proceeded to execute a lame and frankly disappointing mock suicide. I’m sure, given half a chance and a section of rope, the audience would’ve roped up and joined him, to relieve themselves of the misery he was spreading so ungraciously.

S.K.A.M.’s rendition of pride and what it means to him was an overall depressing display. A self-deprecating effort at trying not to look like the sellout we all know he is. His use of fake blood to expose the cliched writing on the wall was trite, unexceptional, and just downright boring. A ridiculous effort to make himself appear relevant, when we all know he’s laughing at us. Sitting on his pile of cash as he looks down on the lower classes, claiming to be one of us.

Five figures for one painting?

The King of England has more in common with the lower classes than he does.

So, who are the real fools here?

We were all sold something, and he didn’t deliver.

More fool us.

The best part of this nightmare was the end, but I should’ve left way before then.

In conclusion, S.K.A.M. proved that he’s the epitome of a scam artist. His fees are astronomical. His work, a rip-off of better street artists such as Banksy.

I am thankful for one thing, though.

I will never have to sit through that performance ever again.

Motherfuckers. I couldn’t stop reading. Hyper-fixating over every sentence, phrase, and word.

You thought my performance, that I spent years envisaging, months preparing, weeks perfecting, and countless hours practising was meh.

Meh.

I hated that fucking word.

Was it even a proper word?

I gritted my teeth so hard, I’m surprised my teeth didn’t crack under the pressure, but I didn’t care.