Rudy’s Graphic Design

‘You’ll have to explain it to me one more time,’ I said doubtfully.

‘Okay, okay,’ Rudy rolled his shoulders, settling into a stance like he was about to confront a velociraptor or something. ‘Close your eyes.’

I reluctantly obliged.

‘Now,’ he said as soon as they were closed. ‘Picture this: a skull with flaming eyes.’


‘Now picture a fish with dragon wings.’

‘Uh,’ I frowned, ‘picturing, too. I guess.’

‘Now imagine a clown with baby hands.’

‘Rudy,’ I scowled, cracking an eye open to glare at him.

‘It has a point,’ he insisted.

‘Which is?’

‘It’s all outside of the box.’


‘I’m an artist,’ he nodded. ‘I’m contributing to the broader collective unconsciousness.’

‘Right,’ I sighed. ‘But you’ve also got to contribute to your broader collective bank account.’

‘The money comes later, big brother,’ he scoffed. ‘Now is the time for the real.’

‘So what?’ I asked him. ‘How is this going to fulfil your dreams?’

‘One word,’ he nodded excitedly. ‘Vans.’

‘Vans?’ I frowned. ‘Like you’re going to—’

‘Paint them on the side of vans, yeah,’ he nodded excitedly.

‘You know,’ I sighed. ‘There could be work in this sort of thing. Have you thought about working for a company that designs fishing boat graphics?’

‘A company?’ he scoffed again. ‘Man, the man has you wrapped around his finger.’

‘Does he though?’ I frowned, looking around the beachside shack where we were having this conversation.

‘I refuse to work for another soulless corporino, man,’ he shook his head. ‘Nah, I only work for people with souls.’

‘People with souls,’ I nodded. ‘Right.’


‘Nothing,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Just… who has a soul, y’know.’

‘People that like… have them,’ he frowned.

‘So what precludes people from having a soul?’

‘It’s immaterial, man.’

‘So why does the material matter? Would I lose my soul if I owned, say, a sailboat? Print copies of classic novels?’

‘No, of course not—’

‘I wouldn’t?’

‘I mean of course that doesn’t—’ he cut himself off, flustered. ‘You’re twisting my words, man!’

‘Maybe,’ I sighed, walking over to clap him on the shoulder. ‘Just… just get a job, would you?’


Posted in: