The reason I post, is Banksy. I could go to some lengths (albeit, short lengths (there's the albeit, and my calling card nested parentheses again)) to search to see whether I've mentioned Banksy before, here at TBIMB. I'm nearly certain, I have, but I choose to hypothesize without a definitive proof.
Yeah, Banksy. UK-based stencil artist, does the cute thing, does the political thing. Master of both stencil and switcharoo. Like Savior Faire, he indeed is everywhere. And now he fucks with the diamond-encrusted trainwreck that two consenting adults once begat and granted the moniker Paris Hilton.
Paris came out with a CD, apparently, she sings. I know this because I've heard it. Banksy says, let's have a little fun with Paris, since at this point he's probably the only one who hasn't.
I am the first link.
I am the second link.
To explain the rest would be like Aquaman explaining his actual summoning of a school of hammerhead sharks to yada, yada, yada. In other words, the links tell the story. If the links don't in this case, then there is no sense linking. We don't need no superhero voiceovers telling us what our eyes do a much better job of.
I end sentences with of. I did it again of. That last one didn't need the of. Nor that one.
Of.
