An imagined interior monologue, starting with my nose pressed against Georges Seurat's famous oil painting (above) and slowly backing away:
Well, that's dumb. It's just a bunch of dots. What the hell kind of painting is this? Anyone could do this shit! Georges Seurat? More like Georges Overrated. Heh, heh. Good one, Winona. Freakin' dots... Dippin' Dots sound really good, come to think of it. Maybe I'll grab some later. I wish all food came in Dippin' Dots form, like Broccoli Dots, that would be fun. I should call someone about tha--Wait, wait, is that a frolicking dog? Whooooaaa hold on! Grass! Grass! I see grass! A woman! People! It's a Sunday afternoon scene! This is the best painting ever!
A second imagined interior monologue, starting with my nose pressed against Karl Lagerfeld's sequined self-portrait tank top (above), and slowly backing away:
Oooohhh fun! Sequins! Shiny! Weeeeee! Gosh, does it get any better than sequins? And I love the black, white and grey. Tres chic, indeed! I need more sequins in my life, I think. No wonder I've been feeling down. Must increase sequin intake. Umm...are those sequin eyebrows? And sunglasses? What the hell? A nose? KARL LAGERFELD? Stop staring! I'm sorry! Please spare me, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!