Greatest Crisis of Modernity: The Cell Phone Bathroom Self Portrait
Hermit hands out the award:
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In earlier times, wealthy industrialists would commission talented artists to paint portraits of themselves and their families, usually in the formal parlor, and always dressed in their finery. Later, with the invention of the camera, the family portrait became more readily available to the masses. Mother, Father and the children would don their best apparel, and a local photographer would capture their image with primitive, bulky equipment. These grainy, monochrome photos were treasured heirlooms, displayed with pride over the mantle or pressed between pages of the family scrapbook.
The industrial revolution changed the young country. Factories churned out Model T’s and waffle irons, the Middle Class expanded, and by the turn of The Twentieth Century Eastman Kodak introduced the Brownie camera. Low-cost photography and the concept of the “snapshot” became available to the average Joe. The family portrait became a little less formal. People would still dress in their Sunday best while Uncle Walter snapped the picture, often on the front lawn. Life was good.
Sadly at some point, an unknown, self-centered innovator turned that Brownie upon himself and took his own photo, forever changing the course of history. When that seemingly innocent flashbulb went off, the foundations of modern culture began to irreversibly crumble. At that precise moment the sun was temporarily blotted from the sky, and in the distant mountains of Peru, a baby llama, blind since birth, coughed up a bloody wad of 35 mm film and part of a tuna fish sandwich.
As technology advanced, cultural values and decency regressed in corresponding measure. From elegantly-clad ladies and stately gentlemen posing in stylish attire, we are now reduced to the spectacle of pathetic, shirtless narcissists creating digital images with hand-held devices, reflected from a filthy mirror flecked with toothpaste and zit puss. The setting is no longer the formal, tastefully furnished parlor, but the very room where they vomit, urinate and go to take a gaseous, foul-smelling dump.
Far away, in an Amsterdam museum, Van Gogh’s self portrait is busily hacking off it’s other ear.
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Why did Mrs. Wedgie pick today to make me a tuna sandwich for lunch?
this may be the best one yet, well done
I don’t even know what to say other then the man is spot on yet again. I will add this to my collection of Hermit’s screeds along with the “frog raping propagates”
and this past weeks Douchepug
Well put.
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Bathrooms are for pissing, shitting, vomiting, showering off said piss shit and vomit, and having period sex with your girlfriend because you’re too lazy to wash your sheets. It’s not a freaking photo booth you putrid gobs of runny ass spelunking clown excrement!
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Sorry about that. Please excuse me for a moment while I go wash this itchy uterine lining off my balls…in the bathroom…which is WHAT IT’S FUCKING FOR!
A round of NyQuil® on me if we ever meet up.
Well done Hermit. The crisis continues, of course. Humans, by nature, are programmed to cross any threshold no matter how perverse or disgusting, even if it defies the very laws of the universe. From the bathroom mirror self portrait, it’s just a short trip down the toilet to such monstrosities MMS peen spam, underage sexting, and the horror of facebook fat chick angle shots. Strap on your keds and head to the starting line, the great race to the bottom is underway.
Awesome. The imagery reminds one of Franzen or Delillo.
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I was working at a local appliance/TV retailer when the “One Hour Photo” machines were first offered. We jumped on the opportunity to increase foot traffic. The owner then took his favorite little golden boy that had worked there through high school and now was going to college to run the voodoo magic machinery.
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The gravity of being the photo tech and the responsibility to keep people’s privacy protected was strictly adhered to . Until our super hot mail lady’s boyfriend dropped off a roll.
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Mike quietly called me over to view 36 shots of the two letter carriers nude and entertwined in the rocks above Angeles Crest Highway. Three input penetration , cumshots and close up hairy pussy (this was the ’80’s) all were captured by lense, timer and tripod.
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Nowadays , instead of sneaking off a few extra prints to take home we would be able to slip the ole thumb drive in and have ’em all to be posted later to the entire free world on the ‘net
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Don’t tell me technology is evil, bitches
<3
Hermit’s view of modern “Amërïkä” is downright frightening, only because it’s so true. Our “culture” is certainly on the skids, and we’ve gone from a family photograph as “art” or something pleasant to, literally, “Who gives a shit where its taken?”
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Small wonder we refer to douchebags as “poo.”
^Hilarious. Our 1-hour guy used to keep what he called a “blue file”, which was basically a drawer full of that stuff. We’d all wait for our photos from surfing or riding and kill the time by flipping through them. I can’t tell you how many friends & neighbors had their naked pics in there, but I can tell you I never looked at old Mrs. Crandall the same way ever again.
Even more genius form Hermit. We should take out an insurance policy with Lloyd’s of London on that great melon of his lest the world be robbed of such insightfulness. Well done sir, well done.
Hall of Mock with distinction for Hermit. I need some tissue for my screen. I see the photographer as a sweet WW2 vet, still young and virile,looking at his family in black and white. His view changes to sepia as his old life flashes before him and to vivid color as his Edsel turns into a Thunderbird behind him, the family is gone, and a Vegas showgirl is sitting in the seat holding his Chargex card and a pack of Pall Malls. His abondoned son the first Yuppie.
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Is that correct, Hermit?
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Here’s a greatest crisis of modernity for you. At least these guys can play. But sweet fuck put on a shirt and come out of the closet already homos.
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Live from a pile of shite at some castle in Scotland. The one, the homely, Red Hot Chili Peppers. This music justs turns my stomach.
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Hermit shoots and scores!
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.A classic!
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.Spot on historical analysis….and by “spot on” I mean that spot in my bathroom corner where I occasionally take a piss….when I’m pissed.
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.Scotsman
Great job! Was that even a category?
Job well done Hermit.
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And I know the guy in this pic is a confirmed white studded belt wearin, hat tiltin, stage 2 bag, but I still give him an “atta boy !” for getting his hot, pasty skinned, round assed girlfriend to pose for this pic. “Really sweetie, no one will ever see this but me.” Yup.
I love these things when they’re couched in cultural and historical context. Tee-hee! Wonderful!
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And lest we forget, the slide which Hermit describes doesn’t bottom out with the bathroom mirror self-portrait. No, that nadir is filled with the GSR cock-‘n’-ballz cellphone sext pic, which we are luckily, wonderfully spared from here.
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Shudder.
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And people, it’s spelled “pus” not “puss”. This misspelling happens here constantly and it harshes my mellow. It could harsh yours too if you poke your weenus in the wrong one.
My lunch is in the microwave. and I think it’s gonna have to stay there, as my guts have lost interest in food what with my mind swimming in a sea of puke and zit pop flotsam. Thanks, Hermit. A stellar writeup, you are definitely one of the greats. You work is literally moving, moving me closer to the trash can because I might hurl.
Don’t you just hate it when you go to take piss, and there is some topless Russian teen loitering in the toilet?
After Hermit’s post everything else I read sounds like, “Blah, blah, blah…”
No, Dude McC’, I don’t actually hate that at all. Not at all.
Yes,bathrooms for for crapping,not taking photos you stupid shits.Turds hanging with turds. There’s a theme here.
Why wasn’t my cell-cam bathroom pic given consideration? Published here and everything. Oh yeah, I wasn’t wearing a pink thong.
Sorry. Carry on.
Thanks, you guys are too kind.
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Baron, “zit puss” is the substance secreted from vaginal blisters.
No, thank you Herm.
“its”. Otherwise profound.
This site has been severely lacking in the hott next door category as of late. Not anymore! Goddamn that is a ass!
Hermit, I pledge every large appliance box in my future for your use. You’ve earned it; outstanding. I feel enlightened, depressed, and dyspeptic all at once.
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Her milky white hue belies the fact that she does not like baring her skin outdoors, ergo in public. Sugar, you need a new boyfriend. He didn’t post this on the internet, one of his 20 idiot buddies he texted it to, saying “yeah I tap that shit” posted it to the internet.
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Gullibles.
Gold! Hermit. Very funny, accurate and polished. Go forth and multiply!
That above post is another one of mine.
To be fair there is an element of surrealist art sensibility on display in the example chosen, although it doesn’t lessen Mr. Hermit’s point, i do think its noteworthy in passing.
What is spectacular here, is imagining this rutting young couple taking full advantage of the money they threw on a cheapish hotel. They got for their money, unfettered access to a clean mirror, cleanish white walls, and absent the bevy of clutter in the form of gels, foams, sprays, daps, doos, appliances and other sundries that would obscure their minimalist and thus surreal view of themselves, in the mirror, with a camera.
There is art here people!