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Insanely Inane Thoughts

If fate doesn't make you laugh, you just don't get the joke.

Broggart the Braggart

Renoir Broggart stared hard at the canvas and then took a swig of whisky. His face contorted rather comically as he attempted to gulp down all of it at one go but he ended up snorting out most of it. His freshly dyed moustache, which had taken in more of the drink that his parched throat, seemed rather nonplussed with the result and blanched appropriately.

"I don't know how Gogh put up with this rubbish," remarked Renoir as he wiped the bushy centipede clean of any whisky with the back of his hand. He held up a brush and then exclaimed in surprise as he ogled at his darkly stained hand.

"Curse of the foul-mouthed Yeti!!" he thundered as he glared at the bottle of whisky. "Black Dog, my foot! May your daughter be a black-"

"You called for me, Renoir?" asked Lestrange Sharp from behind as he let himself into the studio. He took off his coat and flopped it over the table. A cloud of dust heralded its arrival.

"What? Ohhh Lestrange!! Come in, come in. I needed some views from you on my latest," said Renoir as he rushed towards him even as his giant frame wobbled treacherously at every step. Renoir's rage had seemingly vanished and a huge smile, which gobbled up most of his face, greeted Lestrange instead.

Lestrange backed away a little and smiled. He was always a little hesitant of commenting on his work. He knew that Renoir was a man who loved people that showered praises on his works. He was also of the thought that Renoir was a bit of a sham.

"Your latest?" he queried as he shook hands with the grizzled man.

"My latest!! It's called "The Undisturbed Mind"," proclaimed Renoir as he pulled Lestrange towards himself and enveloped him in a giant hug.

"At least wait till I declare it to be utter rubbish," gasped Lestrange as he tried to escape from the affectionate death hold. Renoir guffawed as he let him out of the hug.

"So, where is your little artwork?" asked Lestrange after he had ascertained that he hadn't broken any bones or his prince-nez. Renoir pointed out towards the canvas that he had been staring at just before he drowned his nose in alcohol.

Lestrange adjusted his prince-nez and looked hard at the canvas. He then glanced furtively at Renoir, who was looking lovingly at the canvas.

Really, this time he had outdone himself.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"A mind that is bereft of any tension, stress, worry. It's in a state of absolute harmony and universal peace," Renoir gushed, still gazing at the canvas.

"You get all of that from this?" questioned Lestrange, trying to hide any signs of incredulity.

"You don't?" asked an even more incredulous Renoir.

Lestrange simply nodded his head and smiled.

"You really want my views on that?" asked Lestrange as he pretended to peer at the canvas.



"I reckon there's something missing from that piece." There sure is, thought Lestrange.

"You know how you usually react to any of the suggestion I have ever had to make." Renoir remained silent but looked pleadingly at him.

"Alright, what do you call this piece?"

"The Undisturbed Mind!"

"Renoir, the only thing that is undisturbed about the piece is the canvas. I suggest you get some paint on it. I reckon that's the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle."

The painter looked hard at the canvas and then at the critic. He shifted nervously as he tried to decide how best to defend his artwork. Having reached a seemingly good retort, Renoir looked towards Lestrange and shook his head.

"Some people just don't know how to appreciate art," he remarked haughtily.

Lestrange simply sighed.
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